


Avarius Rising - Part One: Flashpoint

by MrToes



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Dark Comedy, Gen, Novelisation, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 88,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22759174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrToes/pseuds/MrToes
Summary: The chronicles of the world's least fortunate Mage Knight and his equally unfortunate friends. Step right this way to discover why everything went straight to hell, and why absolutely none of it is the fault of Senior Sentinel Firmament Branford or his bumbling compatriots!You have no idea what you're letting yourself in for.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> NB: This is a work that has been published for some time over on Fanfiction.net. I am currently (with the aid of a beta reader - VallasRevas) currently updating earlier chapters to bring everything into line before proceeding with the plot. Chapters will therefore be posted (sporadically) here and replaced there. Got it? Good.
> 
> And no, I am not plagiarising myself or stealing my own work. I'm neither that stupid nor that masochistic.

**Introduction, Disclaimer, and Thanks**

Yo,

Alright, if you're actually going to _read_ this literary disaster, then there's a few things I'd like you to know. Part of this is to avoid confusion, and the rest is to ensure that the huge number of people out there who deserve credit get it. It should've been in originally, it wasn't; I'm correcting that now.

First up, the thanks (yeah, I'm doing this in reverse order, but…well, sod it). I think it would be kinda unfair to present this without giving all due props to my beta readers who have, over the years, helped convert this from a primer for an African clicking dictionary into something that approaches readable English. Chances are, if you’ve read a sentence that is a) coherent, b) understandable, and c) actually comes to an end instead of trailing off into some kind of interminable, rambling sentence that just never seems to _end_ …then that’s thanks to them. All of them.

Now onto the nitty-gritty legal stuff. It's simple, if it doesn't belong to me, it belongs to Squaresoft. The rest I'm not sure about. I'm an engineer (a bad one), not a solicitor.

By now you've probably guessed that I'm not much of a _writer_ , either, 'cause I've put the introduction last. Basically, this is another take at the story of FF6, with suitable alterations and changes depending on what I feel like. I know novelisations have been done before, and to be frank it's probably just an attack of laziness, but hey, I like to think that I'm at least doing something slightly different.

That's everything. Enjoy the show.

**Avarius Rising**

You have _no_ idea what you're letting yourself in for.

I have to say, that’s a pretty dramatic first statement, but its right. Unfortunately, I know _exactly_ what I’ve let myself in for, so any amusement I could get from your confusion would be pretty cold comfort. Instead, how’s about we just dispense with the pleasantries and set the scene, shall we? My coffee’s getting cold.

Right. I’d like you to imagine, if you can, the start of a fine spring day. The sky is blue, the sun is out, and there’s the slightest hint of a breeze rippling through the trees. It’s the kind of day where you might find lovesick deer skipping gaily through the meadows while birds serenade them with sweet trills from the branches. Sickening, right? Well, good news! _I’m_ not allowed to participate. _I_ am cooped up in this highly exciting study of mine having just concluded a one hour battle with my new typewriter and about fourteen dozen ink ribbons.

“Why?” you might ask, and it’s a good question. Why in the name of the Goddess _would_ I be spending one of my precious days off being assaulted by the world’s smuggest bloody typewriter? I mean, I _could_ be doing any number of things, like being outside setting snares and teaching lovable woodland creatures valuable lessons about loss and the cold, uncaring nature of the universe. Luckily, I’m pretty certain I can answer _that_ question. In fact, I’m going to answer it in two words:

My sister.

Now, my sister will be turning up in about thirty seconds time, but I think it’s only fair that I give you some advance warning. If you don’t know what it’s like to have an overprotective sibling with pyromaniacal tendencies and an apparent death wish, then you’ve lived a charmed life…right until this point. I’m a pretty forgiving guy and I’m not given to pointing fingers, but I think it’s safe to say that everything bad that’s ever happened to me can be traced back to her in some form or another. As an example, I present to you my ink-stained study and my hands, which have almost been stripped to the bone by the voracious carnivore that apparently doubles as a typewriter. This whole undertaking was her suggestion, and…well, when she makes a ‘suggestion’, it’s often a good idea to follow up on it, particularly if your fire insurance doesn’t start for another two weeks.

So anyways, I’ve introduced this literary train wreck, I’ve introduced my sister, so I suppose the polite thing to do would be to introduce _myself_. My name is Firmament Manduin Branford. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the truth; I’ve gotten used to it, and I’m sure you will with time as well. Now, what normally happens here is that we move swiftly onto a brilliant, witty description of oneself, where phrases that should never see the light of day (like ‘rippling muscles’, ‘deep, dreamy eyes’, or even ‘long, luxurious hair, feathered like the wings of a majestic bird’) are employed with gay abandon. Sorry; that’s not happening today. I’m an average guy of average height with an average build, and if you were looking for a power fantasy that blots out the sun and can only fit through doors sideways, then you’re in the wrong place. While my sister and I have some idiosyncratic features, I’m going to leave them to inference and just press on. They’ll come up enough later as it is.

So, what _are_ we actually covering today? Well, I’m guessing that everyone knows about that _thing_ that happened when a certain madman took it upon himself to redesign the planet. What you may or may not be aware of are the specific events leading up to that terrible moment, or the subsequent actions that resulted in the world we now live in. If you were curious about what happened? Well, it’s your lucky day! My sister, for one reason or another, has suddenly acquired a burning desire to know what really happened. You may not see quite how I fit into this, and neither, frankly, do I – and all _I_ knew about all of this was when a letter dropped through my door, addressed to one ‘Sr. Sen. F. Branford, South Figaro'. At first, I thought I could just ignore it, but then I made the fatal mistake of leaving the letter on the dining room table, where my fiancée (more on her later) picked it up when she came in from work. While she and my sister might enjoy a somewhat _cool_ relationship, she actually agreed wholeheartedly with the idea and rushed out to buy the aforementioned ravenous typewriter on the spot. At that point, the game was up.

But anyway, it's the jobs that're never started that take the longest to finish, and so…well, where do we begin? Nice simple question, bloody difficult answer, mainly because the beginning, by which I mean the real, genuine _, actual_ beginning, was about a millennia and a half before I was even born and nobody knows what happened. The problem here is that you can label nearly everything as a beginning. The Cataclysm, the release of Phunbaba, the first flight of the Quicksilver Wraith? All beginnings. Heck, even my abortive (not to say exothermic) attempts at making breakfast this morning could be considered as a beginning. It just all depends where you set your limits. We could even go from the first blow of the War of the Magi right up to those final moments when the world decided that it had had enough, and rose up as one to beat the ever-lovin’ tar out of its would-be oppressors.

I don't think we will, however. It’s more work than I’m prepared to do, and I don’t think I’d be able to do it any better than the umpteen million history books on the matter which you can find at your local library. Instead, what I’m offering you here are _my_ experiences, _my_ opinions, and _my_ story. They might not answer every question you’ve ever had, but maybe walking in my shoes will help put things in a different light.

So, light a cigar, take a draught of your favourite brandy, and place yourself in that particularly comfortable leather armchair of yours, while I attempt to explain why everything happened the way it did.


	2. Dawn of Destiny

I don't think anyone really expects themselves to become a fulcrum.

Actually, it would probably be fairer to say that _I_ never really expected to become a fulcrum. I mean, people who're destined to become 'important' or 'heroes' or whatever you want to call them can generally be spotted from a mile off. Classically, they either have a chin like a battering ram and abdominals that can deflect bullets, or long, carefully managed hair and a personality so depressing that you want to top yourself within five minutes of meeting them. Like most people, I eventually concluded that in no way, shape, or form was I anything like anyone who might sally forth to save the world.

What I _should_ have realised, in retrospect, is that your average champion only tends to look like that because attractive people sell newspapers. Still, I don’t think it would’ve changed anything; as far as November 15th was concerned, everything was playing out exactly like the days, weeks, and months had before that. For myself and my sister, this meant that I was about two seconds from being kicked awake with an army-issue boot.

I came to with a sudden oath as Terra's boot lodged itself somewhere between my ribcage and my pelvis. Although the room was barely illuminated, I could easily make out the silhouette of my sister standing over me, the soft glow of her jade eyes throwing her features into light relief. I blinked wearily, swiping at my eyes with a free hand to clear away the sleep. After a moment or two, it became apparent to my tired senses that Terra was not, in fact, saying anything.

"Can I help you?" I asked irritably, raising my eyebrows as I spoke. In response, Terra silently held up a squat, metallic object for my examination.

"That's my alarm clock," I stated flatly, after a moment's study.

"Indeed," Terra replied, in an equally deadpan voice.

"Fascinating," I raised an eyebrow in the ensuing silence, "Have you just woke me up to show me my alarm clock? I bloody well hope for your sake that you haven't."

"It's not wound," Terra said patiently, "Do you remember what happens when a wind-up alarm clock isn't wound?"

"Oh, wait, I know this one...oh, yes, _that's_ right!" I fixed her with a tired, glassy grin, "It gets force-fed to the first person mind bogglingly _stupid_ enough to bother me about it! Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to sleep!"

"Not so fast."

"Tee, I swear to Callista that if you keep bugging me you'll be spitting cogs for a godsdamn _month_."

Terra fixed me with a calm, silent gaze, and then _just_ as I was in the process of turning over, "Do you know what time it is?"

"No, I'm not aware," I turned back to favour her with a chilly stare, "How am I _supposed_ to know what time it is when my wind-up clock isn't keeping time because, as you've so patiently stressed, it _isn't bloody wound_?"

"It's four fifteen in the morning, Firma," Terra replied, with more than a note of exasperation in her voice, "You'd know that if your alarm clock was wound up by the loud, pealing noises it would be making right about now."

My vestigial logic lobe gave a dim flicker, and I gave a great sigh into my pillow.

"Oh, bloody hell," I said wearily, sitting up again and wrapping my duvet around me to ward off the chill, "Breakfast?"

Terra smiled, "Breakfast."

"Bugger!" I cursed with feeling, "Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger! I only got to sleep three hours ago!"

Terra's eyebrows leapt up her forehead, "And whose fault is that?" she inquired in that special 'it's your fault, isn't it' tone adopted by mothers and overbearing sisters everywhere. I sighed, and reached out in the dark for the top cupboard of my clothing drawer.

"Well, in that case-" I pulled open the cupboard with rather more force than I had intended, "-you can make yourself useful and find my boots. They should be somewhere over by the door, I think."

There was a slight 'hmm' from on high, but Terra turned away to find her way towards my boots, lazily discarded from the night before. Giving her a mildly amused glance, I gave my full attention to rooting through the large drawer to find a cleanly folded uniform.

"Laundry day tomorrow, is it?" I asked quietly over my shoulder, well aware that people were attempting to sleep on either side of the thin walls.

"Well, I've got one set of clothing left," Terra's voice floated in from around the door, "So yeah."

"Wonderful," I said, holding up one black and one white sock for inspection, "That would make this Mismatched Sock Wednesday, then."

There was a thud from across the room, followed by a somewhat distracted "Sounds about right."

I frowned into the darkness, but with no more information forthcoming I pulled out a bland, slate-grey jumper of a Trainee Sentinel and pulled it over my head.

While I don’t want to insult your intelligence too much at this early stage, there might be some of you who _don’t_ know what the significance of that jumper is, or, for that matter, what a ‘Sentinel’ is. If you don’t? Don’t worry, ‘cause you’ll be hearing about Sentinels a _lot_ , but here’s a basic primer from an encyclopaedia that I stole from the local library:

_Sentinels (full name, Silver Sentinels) are a pseudo-religious organisation of physicians committed to the service of Callista, the goddess of healing and protection (see ‘Callista’). Their religious organisation, the Order of Callista, is counted as the fourth largest religion in the world. However, serving Sentinels may belong to other religions or have no religion at all._

_Sentinels provide medical expertise across the full range of disciplines, and carry out specialised emergency aid under difficult conditions or in combat zones. In many countries Sentinel operations have now fully displaced national healthcare initiatives, potentially granting the Order of Callista significant political leverage. Despite this the Order and its members remain strictly apolitical, although…_

This goes on for some time, but you get the idea. Anyway…

There was a dull thud as the first of my black, half-calf army boots hit the floor just next to my foot, joined a moment later by its fellow.

"Thanks," I remarked to the far end of the room as I finished donning my trousers and got to work on the highly technical lacing, "Where were they, anyway?"

The reply might've held a slight note of exasperation in it, but I was still too sleepy to be sure, "Where they always are, Firma," Terra said, returning and sitting back down on her already-remade bed, "Where they've always been, and probably where they'll always be."

I gave a non-committal 'mmm-hmm' as I finished the first boot before turning my attention to its mate, "And where is that, exactly?"

"At the end of your bed, Firma," Terra sighed wearily before lying back, "Could you hurry up? Some of us happen to be starving."

"You don't have to wake me up, you know," I pointed out as I grappled with the laces, "I reckon you're old enough now to go and grab a bite to eat without my presence."

Terra ignored my jibe, "If I don't wake you up now then I'll still have to wake you up in an hour for Magical Studies, and all that'll do is make sure you're hungry and bad-tempered and just _itching_ at the prospect of an argument with Celes."

"Oh, you _know_ she's itching just as much as I am," I tied the final knot in the left-hand boot and stood up, swaying slightly as my blood –several seconds behind events- rushed to my head, "She just hides it better."

"Can we go? Finally!" Terra moved from her position on her bed to standing in one fluid movement, "Let's get something to eat; I'm ravenous!"

Outside the dark dark room was a dark dark corridor, with walls of concrete and a rather distressed, threadbare carpet underneath. At regular intervals down the passageway small alcoves held doors leading into rooms almost identical to our own. Of course, they were all closed and locked, as _their_ occupants were well aware of the benefits of getting plenty of sleep. Still feeling rather put out about this, I favoured Terra's back with a scowl as she quietly locked the door behind us.

"Okay," she whispered, turning around to face me, "Let's go- what's that expression for?"

"Nothing," I replied with mild annoyance, "I'm just thinking of what I could do with another, oh, four hours sleep."

"Nothing useful, I'm sure," Terra said lightly, her eyes glowing cheerfully in the twilight gloom. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to prevent a small smile from rising to the surface.

"C'mon, Firma," my sister grabbed my hand and started pulling me down the corridor, "You can whine after you've got some food inside you."

At this point, unfortunately, natural honesty forces me to mention that at no point could one ever _really_ consider what the Imperial Air Force canteens churned out to be 'food'. If you were ever unlucky enough to sit down to a meal in the Imperial canteens then you'll know, for certain, that the food there has all the appeal of roadkill and the nutritional value of boron. I will concede the point that it’s hard to produce healthy, energy-packed food for what must be going on close on a thousand people, but...well, let's just say that the cooks tried for none of those and succeeded spectacularly in their attempt.

However, if the food was bad, the actual canteen itself was even worse. Someone had once told me that it had been envisaged as a sort of relaxation and gathering area before the budget cuts hit, but to be honest I can't possibly see how _any_ amount of money would have made that damnable hall any better. Essentially, it was nothing more than a large cube, lit from overhead by several racks of dazzlingly bright electric lamps. The furniture was simple; three metal tables that very nearly stretched the entire length of the room, with some really quite horribly uncomfortable wooden benches on either side. It's difficult to describe exactly how uncomfortable those things were, but I can tell you that I used to hear of cases people developed calluses on their _behinds_ as a result of dining at Imperial canteens.

There were always a few people around even at this godsforsaken hour, generally either bureaucrats catching a quick cup of coffee or soldiers just coming off the night shift. A few of these turned to watch tiredly as Terra walked cheerfully up to the counter, but quickly turned their attentions elsewhere as my gaze scythed across the room, looking for anyone I might know. My eyes alighted upon a tall, lank fellow brooding darkly over a cup of coffee. With long, unkempt brown hair and a jumper so heavily stained with chemicals that it had given up any thought of being grey, it could be no one else but a friend from my medicine classes.

"Hey, Tanis!" I called out to him across the hall, drawing annoyed stares from the rest of the congregation, "I'll be right over, save me a seat!"

Tanis gave me a long, steady gaze before turning slowly to his left and right. Finding nothing but empty, unending tables, he turned back and gave me a look filled with tired contempt. Feeling slightly embarrassed by the whole exchange, I slunk quietly over to the counter where Terra was standing, considering the food on offer with the air of someone pondering a deep metaphysical conundrum.

"You know, I think you were right," she said distantly as I approached, "You really could've done with another hour’s sleep."

I decided the best approach would be to simply ignore her and, instead, picked up a disgustingly cheerful blue plastic tray from the pile.

"What's on offer today, then?" I asked Terra as I approached the counter, "Anything edible?"

My sister threw me an amused look that spoke volumes, "Well, its Wednesday, so that's-"

"-either porridge or cereal," I finished, staring with dismay into the bowl which held the aforementioned oat soup. Every now and then the bland, grey goop would give off a sulphurous hiss as it deflated a little more, releasing no-doubt lethal gases into the air.

"Are we quite sure that's porridge?" I prodded the mixture with my forefinger, and was mildly disappointed when it failed to strip the digit to the bone, "It looks more like quick-drying ceme-"

"Do you mind?" a thin, reedy voice snapped from out of view, "I've been up making your breakfast since two in the morning, and this is the thanks you give me?"

"Oh cripes…" I muttered, and managed to get safely behind Terra just before Doris the Canteen cook bustled into view, ladle at the ready.

"Right!" Doris snapped, presumably at my sister, "Where is he? Where's that rascal?"

Terra shrugged and took a long step to the left, leaving me to fry in the baleful glare of the cook.

"I thought it might be you," she snapped irritably, and then held out a gnarled hand expectantly, "Give me your tray, deardrie."

I hesitated for a moment before handing her the tray. Not taking her eyes from me, she took a bowl from beneath the counter and slammed it down on the tacky plastic before filling it nearly to the brim with grey porridge.

"Growing lads like you need lots to eat to grow big and strong," she gave me a sickly smile and stabbed a spoon into the centre of the gloopy mix, "Now, I want to see that bowl licked clean, or there'll be no breakfast for you tomorrow!"

"I'm not sure that that's much of a threat-" I began, but my devastating riposte was smoothly cut off by my sister.

"Firma, take your cement and go talk to Tanis," gently but firmly, she rotated me to face towards the tired medic, "I'll join you in a moment."

Well, discretion was the better part of valour, and so it was with my head held high that I strode away to consult with Tanis.

"Honestly, someone should gag that brat…" I heard the breakfast lady mutter somewhere behind me, before she turned to deal with Terra, "Now, dear, what can I get you for breakfast?"

Tanis gave me a tired glance as I sat down across from him, staring with horror at the goop in my bowl.

"She _likes_ you," he said, giving me an encouraging wink.

"Good morning to you too, Tanis," I replied, plonking my bowl on the table and giving him an acid stare.

"Good evening, you mean," Tanis said, swiping at his eyes in a tired manner, "I haven't got any sleep yet."

"Really?" I frowned, ramming my spoon into the porridge with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, "Uh, don't we have another class in about four hours?"

Tanis shook his head, "You should really check the notice board more often, Firma. Because we didn't finish until midnight last night, Professor Peron cancelled today's lecture so he could, and I quote, 'Finally get some blasted sleep'."

"That sounds like him," I reflected as Terra joined us with a cup of coffee, "Doesn't really help me, though. Even if I didn't have these early magic classes, I've still got to prepare for some formation flying this-"

"No, you don't," Terra cut in, earning herself the full effect of my tired glower.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I do," I said irritably, "It's written down on my notice-board and everything!"

"No, you _really_ don't," she sighed, rolling her eyes skyward, "I've already told you, remember?"

"Told me what?"

"You mean you really _don't_ remember?"

"No!" I snapped, "Now can we move on to what it is that I _don't_ remember, please?"

"Sorry, sorry!" Terra put up her hands innocently, "I just can't believe that you haven't heard-"

" _Terra!_ "

"Okay, okay..." my sister took a long gulp of her coffee, "You know, maybe you _should_ have had an extra hour’s sleep. You're in a foul mood today."

For a long, long time, the only sound was the slow, dangerous rapping of my fingernails on the surface of the table.

"Terra," I said brightly, "It is four thirty in the morning and I have had three hours of very rough sleep which –may I remind you- was interrupted rather harshly by you kicking my kidneys in, after which we had a really quite _exciting_ discussion about the merits of winding clockwork-powered alarm clocks-"

"You forgot to wind your alarm clock _again_?" Tanis said, rather unwisely.

"You stay out of this, you bloody insomniac!" I snapped, "Now, _Tee_ , I would really, _really_ like to know that all-important bit of news that you're so-"

"Celes is attacking Maranda," Terra said simply.

"...what?" I blinked, suddenly lost for words, " _What_ is she doing?"

"What generals do, I guess," she shrugged, "Apparently Maranda's gotten something into its head about seceding from the Empire, and so the Emperor's sent a task force over there to sort 'em out."

"...and when was this announced, exactly?" I looked over at Tanis, who shrugged emphatically, "How did I miss it?"

"General Leo came by our magical lessons last week – y'know, the one that you missed," Terra added pointedly, "He's already laid out all the logistics, but Celes is going to be the one who's actually planning the attack."

"'Cause he's buggered off to fight the good fight in Doma, right?" I nodded, "Well, it sounds like good training for her, anyway."

"Good training for you, too," Terra's smile seemed, for just a moment, to glint rather nastily in the light, "We've been called up as an observation team."

There was a 'clink' as my spoon bounced off the side of my bowl, and I buried my face in my hands, "Wonderful," I said eventually, "That's bloody wonderful."

"It'll be okay, Firma," my sister patted me consolingly on the back, "Here; I'll let you finish my coffee."

"Oh, thanks," I said, "That's supposed to make me feel better, is it?"

"It might wake you up," she pointed out, "C'mon, cheer up; everything seems better when you're up and about!"

"Thank you for that thoughtful observation," I swallowed half of the bitter black fluid and sent down a large spoonful of porridge as moral support. The combined flavour of the two was, to put it mildly, underwhelming, "Gods! There's no way this can _possibly_ be healthy!"

"It isn't," Tanis shrugged, and took another sip of his coffee, "But it probably won't kill you, either."

"Are you sure about that?" I said sourly, washing down another bite of the hateful goo with some more coffee, "There's no way this's been anywhere _near_ oats of any description. You know what? I think Doris has something against me."

"Really?" Terra's eyebrows went up, "It would be so unjustified, too. Anyway, I don't think she'd poison your porridge – it's not as if the Empire's known for employing cereal killers, after all…"

The silence was palpable as Tanis and I exchanged a long, long look across the table. Finally, I turned towards my sister with a faintly disbelieving expression.

"I _thought_ you were giggling in your sleep last night," I said, "How long've you been working on that, exactly?"

"It just came to me," Terra said dryly, "You know, in a blinding flash of inspiration."

"Is that so," I sighed, and regarded the rest of my breakfast with despair, "Ah, hell, I'm never going to get through this. Well, not without a stomach pump – anyone else want it?"

Tanis' face went through a number of different expressions before finally settling on something approaching horror. Interpreting that as an emphatic 'no', I turned to Terra, only to find that she had already clambered to her feet.

"Something I said?" I asked facetiously.

"What?" Terra frowned for a moment before shaking her head, "Oh, no. I've, uh, just got to deal with a few things before Magical Studies. I'll see you there, Firma, provided that you manage to turn up this time."

"I will," I replied blandly, taking another bite of the vile porridge, "That is, if I ever get to the bottom of this bloody porridge…"

Terra laughed, and lightly ruffled my hair before walking away with a quiet 'play nice, you two'. Tanis watched her go, before turning to me with a grin across his long features.

"She's hiding something," he said, in the proud tones of someone stating the obvious.

"Gee, you think so?"

"Do you know what she's hiding, then?" Tanis asked lightly.

"No, and I’m not about to go through Terra's stuff to find out what her secrets are. Besides-" I gave him a wry grin, "-I think I should let her keep a few things from me, just so's she can feel all dark and mysterious. If she wants to tell me, then I'm sure she'll tell me."

"Fair enough," Tanis shrugged, before glancing at his watch and then down at my bowl of 'porridge', "You'd better eat up, you know. You've only got thirty minutes to eat that and get over to the hospital."

I glanced down as well, and saw a distressingly large amount of highly dubious foodstuff looking right back at me.

"Oh, blow _this_ for a game of soldiers," I cursed and pushed the bowl away, "There's no way I can finish all this…this…stuff!"

Tanis took the spoon out of my unresisting fingers. "How about this, then; you go and have a shower, wake up, and get over to your magic show, while I'll sit here attempting to down as much of this porridge as'll satisfy Doris."

"Sounds like a brilliant idea," I said, and pushed the tray over to him before he had a chance to change his mind, "I'm certainly not going to pass up an offer like _that_!"

"What a deal, eh?" Tanis said, digging in with his own look of disgust, "You were right, this really is quite hideous."

I stood up, downing the remainder of my coffee in a single gulp, "Well, you asked for it."

"I certainly did," he replied, "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, right? We've got to attend that bloody Order of Callista ceremony."

"Been the high point of my calendar," I raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

I left, gagging slightly at the taste of the coffee.

The shower I had was, quite naturally, cold. This wasn't surprising, considering the typical Imperial view towards unnecessary creature comforts. Still, it managed to finish the job that that coffee had started, and before long I was walking briskly across the barracks, my breath crystallising in the bitter cold as I made my way towards the hospital wing where the lesson was due to take place.

Typically speaking, I'm generally on time for any classes or lectures I have (well, for a given value of 'time'), but for me to be early is a relatively rare experience. Normally I'm rushed off my feet from can to can't, and it requires a fairly major effort to juggle all of my classes and their resultant homework by themselves, never mind all the battlefield exercises and flight time that I have to log as a matter of course. However, despite my extra effort to be the first person to Magical Studies (partially to make up for the fact I slept right through it last week) one person had managed to slip in just before me, and was at that moment staring at the door with an expression of perplexed impatience.

"Mornin', Celes," I said wearily, starting down the corridor towards her, "Sleep well?"

Ah, right. Here I meet a small dilemma. You see, Celes is one of my closest friends; in fact, I’d go so far to say that she’s the closest thing I have to a sister aside for my actual, _literal_ sister. This makes describing her a _little_ bit awkward, but I’m fully aware that if I make her out to be the local gorgon then I’ll likely end up in the concussion ward, having being beaten senseless with a boating hook. On the other hand, I happen to be engaged to a wonderful woman who _might_ possibly be sometimes somewhat slightly insecure. If I go too far the other way…well, it’s widely known that hell hath no fury like a fiancée scorned, particularly one with the merciful nature of a viper. So, here we go…

General Celestine Chere could be said (in a strictly, _strictly_ objective sense) to be strikingly beautiful. To give an analogy; if you were casting a movie about people being hunted down by a serial killer, Celes would invariably be cast as the one who sleeps with the meathead and then gets viciously harpooned while running along a beach in slow motion. To be fair, having an air of 'being killed in the first act’ isn’t something that’s ever slowed her down, and she’s definitely more than capable of using her looks to her advantage.

Why? Because she’s smart, very smart. It’s not the same smarts as my sister, to be fair, but while Terra can put together an impossibly complex Rube Goldberg machine in the space of an afternoon, Celes is the kind of person who knows exactly what the machine should do, where it should be located, and exactly how much toast it should butter while doing the laundry. After all, you don’t get made a (somewhat honourary) General by the age of eighteen; you need to be a pretty bright bulb, too.

Unfortunately, while Celes was busy snaffling the good cards from the bottom of the deck, someone up and dealt her a personality which might best be described as ‘difficult’. This is a woman who can play, _finish,_ and _enjoy_ a four hour game of Risk, against herself, playing all six sides simultaneously. If you screw up, she will not only tell you in graphic detail what you did wrong, but _how she’d do it better_. I mean my goodness, I love her to bits, but there have been times when I’ve tried to work out exactly which past-life-sin has lumbered me with a woman who thinks that she somehow knows more than me (a Senior Sentinel) about medicine.

Despite that, please don’t think that she’s a nasty bit of work, because she really isn’t. She’s pedantic, she’s a perfectionist, and doubtless plenty of other words beginning with ‘p’, but she’s also kind (in her own way), compassionate (in her own way) and a loyal friend. She’s just ‘restrained’, in the truest Vectoran fashion. To see her laugh or cry, or display any other ardent emotion is a rarity indeed, so instead what you have to do is to train yourself to look for the slight quirky smile or the pensive tapping of her fingers. In that way, she’s kind of like a cat.

Anyway, let's press on.

Only the slight tensing of the muscles around her shoulders gave any indication that I had nearly made Celes jump out of her skin. After a moment, however, she turned around and fixed me with a silent Look.

"Wonderfully," she said finally, in a voice that was just _dripping_ with irony.

I raised an eyebrow, "I'll assume that's a 'No, Firma, I didn't sleep well at all', then."

The general gave a slight shrug, and in the predawn gloom I noticed the sullen glint of armour, "I suppose you could say that," a slight pause, then: "I assume by your tone of voice that you didn't get a good night's sleep, either."

I exhaled through my teeth, and leaned against the wall, "Well, I had a medical lecture that didn't finish until midnight, and it was gone one by the time I managed to get to sleep."

"That's harsh," Celes lamented, "What time did Terra kick you awake at?"

"Four fifteen," I replied gloomily, "Just before she gave me a short lecture about my wind-up alarm clock."

"Really?" she might have smiled slightly, but I wasn't sure, "Well, the thing about wind-up alarm clocks is that they seldom work when-"

"All right, all right," I said irritably, "Very funny, Celes – anyway, where's Cid got to?"

"Where's Terra?" Celes looked up and down the corridor.

I shrugged, "Gods only know, she said she had some stuff to do and buggered off."

An amused snort floated across the corridor, "So did Cid."

There was another awkward silence, and then I decided to offer up the question that I had been dying to ask all along.

"Okay, Celes, what's the deal with Maranda?"

The awkward silence continued, but this time it seemed like Celes was carefully thinking about how to phrase her answer.

"You weren't here Monday, were you?" she said finally. Mutely, I shook my head.

"Leo dropped by with a command straight from the Emperor himself. Apparently diplomatic relations with Maranda've broken down, and so I'm supposed to oversee a punitive demonstration of our power."

"So you _are_ going to attack Maranda? Bloody hell, Celes!"

Celes' fingers rapped dully against the wall, "It's not quite what you think, Firma. General Leo drew up the logistics for me, and I've been given nearly five thousand foot soldiers to command, not counting armour and artillery. I think they want to see how good my generalship is, really."

I whistled appreciatively, "That's...a pretty hefty force."

"Mmm hmm," she nodded ever so slightly, "Well, just in case it _does_ get too rough, I've got a squad of Titans ready to send in at a moment's notice."

"Titans? _Titans?_ " I said incredulously, "You're...you're joking, right?"

"I don't have a sense of humour, remember?" she laughed mirthlessly, "Yes, the Empire's sent some of them as well."

"Those things could probably level Maranda all by themselves," I gave her an anxious glance, "If you send them in, a lot of people're going to get killed."

"I know, Firma," Celes sighed, "I think a lot of people are going to die anyway...but, well, if we can somehow nip this insurgence in the bud then we can stop it from spreading into the lives of other innocent people…"

Celes trailed off, and I knew that she was thinking the same thought as I was; 'there are a lot of innocent people in Maranda'. Unfortunately, if the fighting ended up degenerating into a general melee throughout the city then scores upon scores of families who had had nothing to do with the civil disobedience would probably find themselves living very short and terminally exciting lives.

"Any air power?" I asked, breaking the melancholy silence, "Y'know, attack helicopters, jets...possibly some observation planes?"

"Oh, yeah, that reminds me, you hav-"

"Ah, _there_ you are," the familiar voice of Professor Cid floated down the corridor. I looked towards the voice to see him marching quickly down the corridor with Terra just a couple of steps behind.

"Good morning Celes, Firma," Cid greeted us cordially, before gazing at me in a severe manner, "My memory isn't what it used to be, Firma…but I don't believe you were here last Wednesday. Might I ask why?"

I adopted an innocent expression, "Would you believe me if I said that I was on call for last week's night exercises?"

Cid wearily ran his hand through his short, dark hair, "Firmament, I'm surprised that someone as bad at deception as you hasn't taken up telling the truth as a full time occupation. As always, your eyes are a dead giveaway."

"Would you believe me if I said it with my eyes closed?"

There was a long sigh from the professor, "Firma, I understand that your other commitments place a great deal of strain upon your time, and I also understand that this lesson may not be at the most opportune time for you. However, you cannot expect to develop your magical abilities if you fail to turn up. Do you understand?"

"Yes Professor," I replied contritely, "I'll try not to let it happen again."

Professor Cid gave me a look that suggested that he didn't entirely believe me, but in the end he favoured me with a small smile and a 'that's my boy' by way of encouragement.

"Where did you go, grandfather?" Celes asked. Cid turned away just in time to miss my somewhat annoyed scowl.

"What was that, my dear?" he asked Celes kindly, before something evidently clicked, "Oh, yes. I initially forgot to bring the equipment for today's lecture, so I had to go back and get it-" he gestured to Terra, who unslung a large dark object from her shoulder, "-thank you, my dear. They're really quite surprisingly heavy, and I don't like to fancy the thought of having to carry them all the way up here myself."

Celes and I exchanged a quick glance before I aired the unanswered question.

"What are 'they', exactly?" try as I might, my voice still held its surly morning edge, "Anvils? Metric weights? Hilariously small grand pianos?"

Cid smiled; "Nothing quite so impressive, Firma…why don't you open it?" he waved idly at the sack, "I think you'll find that the objects therein are rather appropriate, given your absence last week…"

Frowning slightly, I kneeled down and peered inside the sack. From within, several fluffy white items peered straight back. Not bothering to look back up, I sighed as I stared down at Cid's small joke.

"Pillows," I said flatly, "Why in the world do we need pillows?"

There was a click as Cid inserted his key into the door, "Because –as you would've _known_ had you turned up last time- today we are going to be investigating an interesting development on the front of universal magic."

"What's that?" I stood up, hefting the sack over my shoulder. Cid looked as if he had been just about to push the door wide open, but upon hearing my question he turned back with a slightly mysterious smile.

"Telekinesis," he said, quietly.

Okie dokey; let’s talk magic. Now, this is an area where understanding is absolutely _critical_ , as ‘magic’ is going to be dominating basically everything and anything from here on out. If you get the wrong end of the stick at this point, then the rest of this is going to make no sense and you’ll have nothing to do but chew nervously on the end of that foot you’ve got lodged in your mouth. So, if I were you (and I’m glad I’m not) I’d recommend that you take out a pad of A4 paper and a pen for note-taking, ‘cause I’m only gonna write this once.

Now, when most people think about telekinesis, they think about those dark, mystifying, well-coiffed people who, with the help of smoke and mirrors can bend spoons and spin pens inside a glass box. I mean, that’s fine, although you should be aware that it is possible to bend a spoon without rubbing it vigorously between your fingers and you can move a pen without the air of a conveniently placed hole. Trouble is, if you want to do that then you’re going to have to move beyond harmless trickery and sleigh of hand into magic, which is most certainly _not_ harmless. I really, really suggest you throw away any previous misconceptions you had about it right now, because we're not talking about moons or stars or irritating children with jury rigged glasses. This is magic in the blood and the bone, and it doesn't make friends easily. I warn you; if you approach this particular discipline with the attitude of 'izzy wizzy, let's get busy!' then it will eat you alive.

With that aside, there are pretty much two types of magic (actually there are three, but the third is the stuff of nightmares and we’ll cover it later); ‘elemental magic’ and ‘universal magic’. Elemental magic is the one everyone knows; if you want a hole blown in something, or a wave to sweep things away, or an earthquake? That’s elemental magic. Different people, for reasons unknown, have different aptitudes; for example, my sister (in the finest tradition of nominative determinism) is an expert at anything that relates to fire or the earth itself. Others can influence rivers, glaciers, or anything cold. Still others (me – again, nominative determinism!) can manipulate the air and weather with a fair degree of skill.

The other type of magic (universal) in itself is not terribly famous, as it lacks the massive explosions and powerful crackles that make elemental magic both fun and memorable. Its effects are subtler; whispers in the wind, or a glow to light your way at night. However, what people don't realise is that when you get seriously good at it, it’s universal magic that can mend bone and flesh and even call back the dearly departed, among other things.

In any case, telekinesis turned out to be one of the former varieties of universal magic, and it was not long before we had mastered the spell in all its glory. However, while it did transpire that while the pillows Cid brought along were very easy to manipulate, it was all but impossible to hurl a heavier object (like, say, Celes) across the room. Still, I could see that the idea had plenty of practical applications and decided to make a mental note to read up on the technique if ever I had some free time.

All too soon, however, the Magical Studies lesson came to an end. While it was not exactly unusual for it to proceed well past the timetabled slot of one hour, there is surprisingly little you can do to reasonably extend a lesson whose core activity involves lobbing pillows across a small room. Still, if I didn't have anything else to do until someone needed me somewhere then I could at least go back to bed and get in a couple hours of really hardcore snoozing.

No sooner, however, had that thought oozed its way out of my brain then I felt a light hand on my shoulder. Frowning slightly, I turned to see Celes standing behind me with a small piece of heavily folded paper in her hand.

"Mmm?" my frown increased in the face of Celes' silence, "What, Celes?"

The general exhaled wearily, "I was just waiting to see if you were going to try being cordial."

"Uh, yeah; sorry, Celes," I apologised, rubbing at my sinuses, "I really haven't had enough sleep today."

"That's better," she said quietly, "I don't want to keep you long, anyway. Just…well, you asked about air support, right?"

"Hmm?" I searched my memory for the relevant conversation, and then it clicked, "Oh, right – Maranda. I heard we were required?"

"Yeah, your squadron's up," Celes shrugged, "I don't think that you'll really be necessary, but there've been mixed reports about what the Marandese have to throw at us – and some of them contain references to air power."

"I guess this is the observation job I heard about, then."

Celes had shaken her head, and wordlessly handed me the small piece of folded up paper, "You're not there to look out for enemy threats; we have people doing that already. Your job is to fly one of the reconnaissance planes with a qualified observer-"

"Terra?"

"-if you want," Celes replied shortly, "Anyway, I don't want you to get too close to anything hot, but I'll need you to be near enough to get a reasonable idea of what's going on…it's all on that bit of paper, anyway."

"What time-"

"It's all on there," she gestured to the paper, "I know you've got enough time to get some sleep, though – oh, and Firma?"

I had just been in the process of turning away, but turned back to look at her, "Yes?"

Celes favoured me with a dry smile, "Remember to wind your damn alarm clock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to VallasRevas for Beta-reading


	3. Reign of Fire

In case you were wondering, I _did_ remember to wind that bloody clockwork alarm clock. I have to admit, though, that there’s days when I really wish I hadn’t.

I’m willing to bet that most of you have either heard (or possibly learned in school) about everything that happened in Maranda, and an unlucky few of you may even have had front row seats. In the latter case, I’m afraid I can only offer my commiserations. I don’t pretend to have a good understanding of the history of the Vector-Miranda conflict, but according to the experts what happened was basically inevitable. If it didn’t kick off that Wednesday, it would’ve been the week after, the month after, or even six months from then. There were just too many egos, too much bravado, and too much nationalistic pride at stake for a peaceful resolution. Even if that _was_ the case, though (and I’m not entirely sure it is), there’s no reason for it to have escalated the way it did, and I’m sorry that all I could do was wring my hands while everything unfolded.

In any case, being jolted awake by my alarm clock was _much_ more pleasant than the Terra Boot Experience. Quickly I vaulted out of bed, grabbed my stuff, and hurried across the base to my squadron’s hangars. My sister was, naturally, already waiting outside a small side door, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other while she waited for me to arrive.

“There you are!” she said as I approached, and exhaled exasperatedly, “Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t we?”

“I’m on time, though,” I pointed out.

“Barely.”

“’Barely’ isn’t ‘late’,” I said, and motioned to the door, “Anyway, why’re you standing out here? If you’re going to freeze to death, you might as well do it inside.”

Whatever Terra’s retort was, it was lost under the sudden squeak of protesting metal as I grabbed the icy cold door handle and rammed the door with my shoulder. With a shiver of ice, the door gave way and swung inwards to reveal a scene of barely controlled chaos. Twelve gleaming, gunmetal blue helicopters sat in three ordered rows, waiting to be towed to the landing pad. Swarming around and over them was a throng of air force technicians conducting last minute safety checks, checking weaponry, or rushing hither and thither dragging pipes and toolboxes across the hard concrete floor.

“Gods!” Terra said, and ducked back as a hose popped free of its housing with a loud hiss. It waved frantically in the air, spraying steam, until a pair of technicians killed the flow and managed to get it back under control. With a shrug, I stepped past the gathering crowd and looked for someone who might be able to tell me what to do.

“Cadet Branford! There you are!” a woman called from across the hangar, and I turned to see a tall woman wearing a flight suit and a severe expression striding towards me. A couple of workers in her way looked up, caught her gaze, and scattered immediately.

“Uh oh, you’re in _trouble_ ,” Terra said, in a rather childish, sing-song tone of voice, “Jade’s on the waarr-path.”

Jade came to a halt and fixed me with a glare, “Cutting it a bit _fine_ , aren’t we?”

“I’m…um, I’m on time, though…sir?” I said, and tried to ignore Terra’s smirk.

“Barely,” she snorted, “And you know what my opinion of ‘barely’ is, don’t you?”

“Um, yes sir,” I said, contritely, “Sorry, sir. You prefer ‘early’, sir.”

“Damn right,” she said, “So what’s your excuse _this_ time? Don’t tell me you forgot to wind your alarm clock again.”

“I-what?” I gave Terra a suspicious look, and she shrugged innocently, “How did you-“

“Lucky guess,” Jade said, and shook her head, “Maybe we’ll have a whip-round and get you one that’s battery powered.”

“But I didn’t forget-“

“Anyway, you know why we’re here so I’m not going to waste either your time or mine, which is _infinitely_ more valuable. Instead, _you_ -“ she pointed at me, “-can go find your flight suits, and _you_ -“ she pointed at Terra, “-can wipe that irritating smirk off your face and go make me some tea.”

There was another loud clank from a nearby helicopter, and Jade rolled her eyes.

“For goodness’ sake - get moving, kiddies! Go!” she clapped her hands loudly, jolting us both into action. Terra held up a hand, but she was already gone, hidden amongst the crowd of servicemen already converging on the sound of the noise.

“But-“ Terra began.

“Tea’s over in the lounge; you know where it is!” I said quickly, “She likes it black with two sugars. Do _not_ add milk!”

“But-!”

“No milk!” I repeated. Without waiting for anything further I headed straight for the lockers, ducking and weaving around the hardworking servicemen. I’d never seen the hangar this busy, even during our most intensive training exercises, but there was more to it than that; the atmosphere was tight, tense, and dangerous. I could see it in the grim expressions of the people working around me, and I felt a deep sense of anxiety began to build in the pit of my stomach.

 _“No!”_ I heard Jade’s shout from halfway across the hangar, and half turned to look, _“_ No! This one goes here, and _that_ one goes there!”

My foot caught on a trailing hose, and I tripped, staggered, and finally fell back hard against a mobile tool cabinet. There was a metallic rattle from somewhere on high and then a spanner dropped, almost perfectly, into my outstretched hand.

“Mornin’, Firma,” a voice said, and a moment later I was hauled to my feet, “Glad to see you’re on time for once.”

“Only barely, sir,” I said, turning to face my commanding officer, “Apparently.”

“For you, ‘barely’ isn’t bad,” he said, and ran his hand through his close-cropped hair, “Particularly today.”

“Yeah,” I looked around at the hurrying hordes, “This…feels serious.”

“It _is_ serious,” he gave me a quizzical look, “You know that in a couple of hours we’re going to be attacking Maranda, right? Didn’t Jade tell you?”

“Um, Celes did,” I said, and caught his subtle frown, “Sorry – General Chere. It’s just that there’s a big difference between hearing that it’s going to happen and then _seeing_ all this. It makes it all so very…”

“Real?” he said, and nodded solemnly, “Yeah, I know.”

For a moment we stood there in an awkward silence, while a whirlwind of barely organised chaos happened all around us. Once again there was a loud clang and a hiss, followed a moment later by Jade’s loud, inventive cursing.

“Um, don’t Jade’s parents live in Maranda?” I said, eager to move on, “I mean, it’s just that she seems awfully, um, cheerful.”

There was a particularly harsh, ringing epithet, followed by another bang.

“You know, for Jade,” I finished lamely.

“Oh, they moved back to Vector a month ago,” he said quickly, “Good thing too; if my estimations are right her dad’s a week from retirement. Not a great time to be in the path of an Imperial assault, if you get my drift.”

“Um, yes, sir,” I _didn’t_ , but I wasn’t about to admit it, “Anyway, um, Anceleti? Jade sent me over here to grab our flight suits, so, um…”

“Right there,” Anceleti gestured grandly, “Asked someone to get them out for you earlier ‘cause I figured you’d be late. Turns out I needn’t have bothered, eh?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Stop apologising and get dressed, eh?” he said, “Anyway, where _is_ Jade? I asked her to-“

“Firma!” Jade’s voice echoed across the hangar, and both Anceleti and I turned as one to look as she came hurrying towards us. At some point in the last two minutes she’d managed to get herself hosed down with oil, which had clearly done very little for her sense of humour, “No, the _important_ Firma.”

There was pause, and then she gave me an irritated look and added, “The ‘not you’ Firma, Cadet.”

“Oh,” I said, and returned to struggling with my flight suit.

“What is it, Jade?” Anceleti said, “Has the-“

“Yeah, it’s arrived – and not before bloody time,” she said, “At this rate we’ll be lucky to get there before kick-off.”

“It’ll be fine,” Anceleti said reassuringly, “It’s only the plane they _really_ want, anyway. Everyone else is just window dressing.”

“ _Thank_ you, sir. Nice to be made to feel important, _sir_ ,” Jade retorted, “And where’s Cadet Other Branford, anyway? I want my bloody tea!”

Anceleti’s eyebrow went up, “Sorry; you sent the world’s most powerful magic user to go and make you tea? Why?”

“Well…one,” Jade ticked off her oil-stained fingers, “If she’s not kept busy, Cadet Other Branford likes to poke around the airframes and pesters the technicians. I’ve had complaints, you know.”

“I know,” Anceleti chuckled, “What was it? ‘She’s a menace to herself and others’? She’s just curious, Jade.”

“Then let her be curious on _your_ frame, sir,” Jade said, “I’d rather not discover she’s wired the trigger mechanism to the ejection seat, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Point taken,” he said, “What’s reason two? I assume there _is_ a reason two.”

“I figured you’d want a moment to catch Cadet Branford here, y’know, alone,” she said, and gave me a not unkind look, “Seeing as how it’s his first real sortie and all. ‘Figured he could do with the reassurance.”

“The kid’ll be fine. Besides, how much damage can he actually do without any guns? He just needs to stay out of the way and look shiny.”

“Thank _you_ , sir,” I muttered.

“And reason three?” Anceleti said, pointedly ignoring me.

“Well…” Jade leaned in conspiratorially, and I pricked up my ears, “When these Branfords go and turn the world on its head, I want to be able to tell people ‘back in the day, those kids brought me tea’.”

“Glad to see power hasn’t corrupted you, Jade,” Anceleti and picked up my helmet, “Alright, you; let’s go and find your plane.”

Without waiting for a reply, Anceleti led me out of the hangar and onto the airstrip, where the much-vaunted reconnaissance plane awaited. It stood at one end of the runway, a sleek, gleaming, graceful thing with a long nose, swept-back wings, and a pair of engines that hinted at colossal power. A couple of technicians were still working on the interior components, while another was just finishing off spraying the squadron insignia on the side.

“Beautiful plane, isn’t it?” said my CO, approvingly, “Meet the Wriqurix-class reconnaissance plane. Fast, manoeuvrable, and easy to fly – or so they say. Never been up in one myself.”

“That’s quite a name,” I said, and gave it a dubious look, “You know, it actually looks vaguely familiar.”

“Yeah,” he paused, and said, “It’s the second generation of the technology they used to make the Quicksilver.”

“Isn’t that the plane that exploded?”

“Well,” Anceleti rocked his hand in the air, “Maybe a little.”

“A _little_?” I blinked, “The wings were found a mile apart and I’m _pretty_ sure they only found his teeth!”

“Oh, stop complaining,” he said, “What’s life without a few risks?”

“Continuous?” I paused, and then continued, “So…why me, then? Or us, I guess. Why am I slash us getting the brand spanking new reconnaissance plane? Last week you said I’d be lucky if they let me fly a kite!”

“I stand by that assessment; last week was unpleasant for all concerned,” he said blandly, “Anyway, I’m guessing that this is meant to be a battle to demonstrate the Empire’s ‘unique’ capabilities. Think about it, the world’s only Mage Knights, flying the world’s only Magitek plane, watching over the world’s first battle featuring the only Magitek tanks. It’s as much a propaganda fight as an… _actual_ fight.”

“Oh-” I said, and then a cry from behind us caught our attention. A moment later, Terra came hopping towards us, apparently unsure if she should finish putting her foot in her boot or her helmet on her head.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, and then muttered to me, “Thanks _for waiting_. _”_

“Did you get Jade her tea?” Anceleti sounded amused, “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you.”

“Oh, no sir,” she said quickly.

“And Jade was happy?”

“She said that if she found me snooping around the ‘frames again she’d rearrange my features with an adjustable wrench.”

“’Told you she’d warm up to you!” I said, and gave her a thumbs up, “She… _was_ smiling when she said it, right?”

“I could see her teeth,” Terra said, “I mean, that’s got to be worth half a point, right?”

“Possibly,” Anceleti shrugged, “Anyway, I’ve dragged you two out here to spare you Jade’s warm-up speech. You two know why you’re here, and that’s _not_ to be heroes. You’re to stay up high, out of harm’s way, and just take notes and photographs, got it?”

“Yes sir,” we chorused.

“Good,” he said, and then his expression turned serious, “I’ll be honest; Firma, you would not believe how much fast talking I had to do to convince Master Sentinel Peron to let you keep flying with us. About the only reason he even _considered_ letting this happen was because I promised that the plane would be completely unarmed. That being said, don’t go and do anything stupid, or anything that would put you in harm’s way. You might be a Cadet, but you’re also a Sentinel, and that means that you’re an impartial non-combatant. Do _not_ go and do anything that might make him reconsider. Understood?

“Um, yes sir,” I said, “I understand.”

“Excellent,” he pinned me with a look, “’Cause if you do, you really _will_ be stuck flying kites.”

* * *

The interior of the Wriqurix was small, but managed to avoid being claustrophobic. The controls were large, simple, and surprisingly ergonomic, while the large canopy provided an unparalleled view of our surroundings. Impressed despite myself, I quickly settled down and buckled in, just as a couple of ungainly thuds from behind me announced my sister’s awkward arrival.

“What’s it like back there?” I quizzed.

“Comfy,” she said, “You know what? I reckon I could actually fall asleep in here.”

“Please don’t,” I said, “You got what you need back there?”

“Yeah,” she said, “Voice recorder, binoculars, camera, and notepad. I feel like I’m going birdwatching again.”

“I suppose you are, except the birds are thirty feet tall and spit fire.”

“That’d be more interesting than what I saw,” she said, “I can’t believe I let Alae talk me into that.”

“Neither can I,” I smirked, “Still, I’m pretty happy about it. It means I won a bet.”

“I’m glad. You can buy me a drink later,” she said tartly, and then added, “Say, how d’ya think Celes is doing?”

“No idea,” I admitted, “I guess it’s a pretty big day for her, isn’t it?”

“Can you imagine it?” Terra said, “Being responsible for everyone attacking Maranda, I mean. Everyone’s going to be looking to her for guidance, and if something goes wrong…”

“She’s going to take it personally,” I nodded, “I know.”

“I don’t know how she does it.”

“Neither do I,” I leaned back in my seat, “I guess that’s why neither of us are command material.”

“Speak for yourself! I think I could be command material.”

“Please, Tee, we’re mascots. They parade us around as their ‘magical Mage Knight super soldiers’ half the time and keep us in a gilded cage the other half. They aren’t ever going to let you or me go anywhere or do anything that might put their precious propaganda at risk.”

“Yeah? Well, I think you’re wrong. I’m…I’m not bloody spending my entire life in Wareydon!”

“What’s wrong with Wareydon? It’s beautiful!” I gestured grandly across the rolling fields, “Besides, you can go birdwatching with Alae _every year_. Think of all the chuffinches you’ll see.”

“Chaffinches,” Terra corrected absently, and then groaned, “Oh gods, you’re right. I can see it now. I’ll be pottering around this base aged eighty watching birds and making everyone black tea with two sugars in it, and you’ll be dead!”

“What? Why am I _dead_ in this scenario?”

“You got eaten by a chaffinch.”

“I’m a Mage Knight!”

“It was – will be – a _big_ chaffinch,” she said, and spread her arms for emphasis, “Huge.”

“Okay…in _any_ case-“ I reached out and pressed the radio talk button, “Blue Five to Control. We’re ready to depart.”

There was a pause, and then the radio crackled back, “Control to Blue Five. Wait your bloody turn. We’ll tell you when you can go.”

I leaned back with a small 'huh', and said, "Looks like we’re going nowhere, Tee.”

“Great. It’s like a bloody metaphor for our lives.”

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, I watched with growing impatience as the hangar slowly disgorged one helicopter after another into the clear blue skies. Somewhere behind me, I could hear various sounds of fidgeting, sighing, and then finally there was the rustling of paper, followed by the rough scribble of a mechanical pencil.

“This is taking the piss,” I said eventually, “Why did they have us run around just to have us sit here cooling our heels?”

“Beats me,” Terra said absently, “Just to check; ‘eviscerated’ is ‘s’ before ‘c’, right?”

“I think so, yeah,” I said, “Why? What’re you writing back there?”

“Your obituary,” she said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, “I figure I’ve got a couple of decades to _really_ polish it up before that chaffinch gets you, but-“

She was interrupted by the harsh crackle of the radio, "Blue Five, this is Control. You're cleared to launch."

"Finally," I muttered to myself before pressing the ‘talk’ button, "Roger that, Control. We'll see you later."

With a single smooth motion, I released the talk button and brought my fingers down to the first start-up sequence. Immediately, lights that had been previously dark flared to life, and a wave of green began to march steadily across the board.

"All green," I nodded to myself, "All yours checking out, Tee?"

"Looks like it," my sister chirped, "Oh, wait – one appears to be re…no, wait, I understand now. Everything's working back here."

"Good-oh," I said, and flicked up the catch to activate the engines, "Let's get going."

There was a terrific roar as the engines came to life with a blaze with barely-restrained actinic power. The Wriqurix began to roll steadily down the airstrip, gathering speed as I steadily fed the engines more and more power. The hangar was there, and then it was gone in a blur and we were rumbling towards the end of the tarmac with the unstoppable force of a meteor.

"Listen to those engines!" Terra said, admiringly, "Just listen to them! They-

The remainder of her statement was cut off as the engines reached a new pitch, and then the plane lifted smoothly from the airstrip and hurtled onwards into the sky. All around us was pure azure sky, clear in all directions, and I brought the Wriqurix into a series of leisurely upwards spirals through as I got my bearings and located my hovering squadron.

"Lead to Five," presently, Jade's irritated voice came over the radio, "Cadet Branford, why’re you taking so long, over?"

"Familiarising myself, sir," I replied honestly, "I've never flown this type of plane before, over.”

There was a long silence from the other end of the radio.

"Lead here; that’s fair enough," Jade said eventually, "Anyway, I've just received new instructions from the ground. You're to break formation with us and head to Maranda on your own. How copy, over?"

"Good copy, Lead," I frowned, "I guess we'll see you at Maranda. Out."

I released my finger from the radio button and turned to my sister.

"What was that all about?" I frowned, "What's the deal with the sudden change in plan?"

"Maybe they just decided that it would be too much trouble for you to keep pace with the rest of the flight group," Terra said, and pointed out the canopy, "We _are_ leaving them in the dust, after all."

"Hmm," I shook my head, "I don't like this at all. Why didn't they tell us when we were on the ground?"

"You think something stinks?"

“I _know_ something stinks.”

Terra laughed, "You're just getting paranoid."

“Maybe. Still, you may as well get some sleep. It's going to be a long, lonely trip to Maranda."

Terra was silent for a moment as she stared down at the continent spread beneath us, "I don't think I could sleep right now, Firma. Not with a view like this, anyway."

I smiled slightly, "Believe me, it might be beautiful now, but I'm willing to bet that it'll pall in an hour or so."

"Well, maybe I'll get some sleep then!" Terra flared suddenly, "Shouldn't you be concentrating on keeping this thing level?"

"It seems to be quite capable of doing that itself, actually.”

“The wonders of technology, eh?” she said, “Hey; how about a game of ‘I spy’?”

We’re going to take a short break here, because while I’m sure there’s plenty of people who are well up for a game of ‘I spy’, those are certainly all people who’ve never had to go a couple of rounds with my sister. Anyway, a couple of things have occurred to me, and I think this is a good time to deal with them. After all, continents are big, distances are large, and the ground between IAF Wareydon and Maranda takes a long time to cover even in something as unpronounceably fast as the Wriqurix (that’s ‘Ri-cure-icks’, before you hurt yourself). So, let’s get started!

Firstly, it’s occurred to me that there’s been an awful lot of names, places, and descriptors dropped that have yet to be explained. Don’t panic; this is deliberate, and is by no means an attempt by me to half-arse everything so I can knock off early. My main priority here is to keep things moving, and while beating people senseless with the glossary is highly tempting it kind of gets in the way of that aim. In any case, if you’ve made it this far you’re (probably) an intelligent individual of taste and discernment, and inferring what most things mean shouldn’t really be beyond your ken. The term ‘Mage Knight’, for instance, should be pretty self-explanatory.

That being said, it would be a bit unfair of me to expect you to infer an entire bloody continent, so let’s have a quick look at the Southern Continent. It’s not like you can _actually_ go and look at it (‘cause the damn thing no longer exists) so I think I should include a little footnote here, for the purposes of posterity if nothing else.

As I said, you’re (probably) a smart person, so I’m not going to insult anyone’s intelligence by checking to see if you know which hemisphere the _Southern_ Continent was in. It wasn’t the biggest continent on the planet, but it had arguably the most varied environments and the most extreme. This rapidly became a point of pride for the locals, which tends to happen whenever stubborn people settle where the weather wants them dead. You think _your_ deserts are hot? Ours make people spontaneously combust. You think your forests are deep and dark? Our forests are so dark even the bears carry flashlights. Our winters are colder, our mountains higher, our swamps deeper, our crocodiles toothier…you get the picture. 

A long time ago, the continent was roughly divided up between four countries; the Imperial Empire, the Kingdom of Tzenia, the Kingdom of Maranda, and the Republic of Albrook. However, thanks to a particularly megalomaniacal emperor (who also happened to be an excellent tactician) the Imperial Empire took on and methodically crushed the other three, one after the other, using a devastating combination of diplomacy, trickery, and main force. Although the Empire’s vassals were largely left to their own devices (aside from some inconvenient taxation) the fact of their vassalage clearly sat very poorly with the citizens of those states. Periodically, secessionist groups would either come to power or ferment an uprising, which in turn would prompt a brutal crackdown by Imperial forces, which in turn would drive the formation of extremist secessionist groups…and so on. It was a classic positive feedback loop, and it was only through the immense size and strength of the Imperial Armed Forces (and other, more clandestine groups) that the Empire was able to keep a lid on the situation at all.

Anyway – I hope that primer was of use to you, but let’s keep moving. Forward momentum and all that!

“-with ‘C’?” I was saying, “C’mon, Tee.”

“It’s obvious!” she protested, “It’s right there!”

“The last one that was ‘right there’ was something you saw on your binoculars,” I said, “Which was cheating, I remind you.”

“Okay, I’ll give you a hint. It’s a type of cloud.”

“ _Another_ type of cloud?”

“What else is there up here?”

“Fair point. Well, let’s see; we had some stratus over the Alzertines, some _nimbo_ stratus out to sea, and there were those cumulus clouds about an hour ago…” I looked around, but saw nothing, “Where did you learn so much about _clouds_ , anyway?”

“In a book,” Terra said, cheerfully.

“Of course. Silly question, really,” I shrugged, “You know what? I give up. You win.”

“You give up?” she said, and then added, “You can’t be…cirrus!”

There was a long, horrible pause.

“Cirrus,” I said, flatly.

“Yes! See? Look, cirrus; its right over there!”

“Oh, _Goddess_ ,” I sighed, “How long have you been saving _that_ one up for?”

“A… _cirrusly_ long time, if you must know.”

“Tee, if you keep this up I swear I will crash this plane. I’ll claim insanity as a defence.”

“Oh, don’t be a sore loser,” she chided me, “Just because-wait, is that Maranda?”

“Is it Maranda?” I asked, hopefully, and craned to see, “Oh, thank goodness.”

* * *

The city of Maranda was small, but very beautiful. Its marbled walls gleamed brightly in the winter sun, and the copper domes and ivory spires in the old section seemed to positively glow. We had been there once before, about two years ago, and I could still remember the wide, sweeping avenues and cobbled streets. The tall, brightly coloured houses had seemed very strange to me, so used to the drab red bricks of Vector, but not quite so odd as the smog-free air and nigh-pervasive smell of freshly baked bread…

“Hey, d’ya remember when we came here with Celes and Cid?” Terra was apparently reading my mind, “How many shops did I drag you round looking for that souvenir mug?”

“Too many.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “Still, I found it in the end! You know what? If we ever get out of Wareydon, maybe we should come live here. I reckon there’s probably a good career here for a girl who can control fire.”

“By the time Celes is done with them, they’ll probably have bigger things to worry about than baking,” I said, “Look at the size of that army!”

Whatever else could be said about the Imperial Army, it was certainly the case that they didn’t do things by halves. The assembled force stretched across the plains before the city, burnished metal armour glinting menacingly in the cold. Regiments stood motionlessly beside mechanised infantry and heavy tanks, and with every moment their numbers swelled as troops and vehicles continued to stream towards front lines. Off in the distance, well protected by sandbags, I could just about make out the command centre and rows of artillery, already primed and waiting for the order to attack.

Despite the overwhelming force, my attention was drawn inexorably towards the six enormous Magitek tanks that were now treading across the plains, surrounded by a heavily armed honour guard. It seemed redundant; the tanks easily towered over their escort, and were covered in thick, shimmering armour that looked capable of shrugging off almost any attack. Each one was armed with a pair of enormous Magitek cannons, bigger than I’d ever seen, slung either side of the cockpit. At the press of a button, the operator would be able to discharge beams of unimaginable heat, cold, or even bolts of lightning that could blow the strongest fortifications to smithereens.

"Apparently they're a big improvement over the Golems," Terra said, and there was a note of enthusiasm in her voice, "They say they're unstoppable by anything except another Titan."

“Mmm,” I said, “So we’re sure that we’re doing the right thing here, yeah? I mean…Maranda’s a nice place. Do we really have to have those things burn it to the ground?”

“You know what they say, Firma,” Terra said, “If we let Maranda secede, then Albrook will want out, or Tzen, and before you know it we’ll be back to the Bad Old Days when we were at war with each other all the time. How long do you think we’d last if they all decided to gang up against us? It could be a _real_ mess.”

“Kind of seems like it’s about to be a _real_ mess down there, though,” I sighed, “But I know what you mean. The Empire’s only strong if it’s united.”

“And they _were_ warned,” she added, “They can always surrender, too. Celes said she was going to give them one last chance to back down.”

“Do you think they’re going to?”

“I don’t know,” Terra shrugged, “I mean, which do they value more? Freedom, or peace?”

From far below, there was a flash of reflected sunlight and I looked to see the long barrels of the artillery battery rise menacingly into the air. The guns fired with a deep, resounding report, and we watched in silence as the shells hurtled towards the city. The ivory walls vanished beneath a cloud of deep, angry red flame and pieces of masonry were flung high into the air, trailing smoke and fire, to rain down across the city. When the smoke cleared, beautiful, ancient defences had been reduced to rubble.

“I guess that’s our answer,” I said, grimly.

“Yeah.”

Our forces began to advance. Maintaining a close formation, the mechanised infantry began rolling towards the ruined walls, followed closely by the heavy tanks. Shells continued to hammer down on the Marandese, spreading smoke and flame to cover the approaching troops.

“Looks like they’re moving in,” Terra said, a little unnecessarily, “Hold on; where’s Jade? What about the air support?”

“’Guess Celes decided they didn’t need it. Maybe she decided that Maranda doesn’t have any air power after all.”

Air power or not, Maranda was clearly going to be damned if it wasn’t going down swinging. While city’s walls were now strewn across the city, the defenders and their emplacements were still going strong. They came boiling out of the city like a swarm of hornets, taking up defensive positions amongst the rubble. While they were only appeared to be armed with rifles, several anti-tank guns had been uncovered and were now being wheeled quickly in position on their side of the wall.

“Looks like rifles, PIATs, and several fifty-seven millimetre guns,” Terra said, staring through her binoculars, “If I was a tank right now, I’d be feeling pretty worried.”

“Are those guns big?”

“Well, our tanks down there are a mix of Minervas and Hawkins. They’re fast, but the armour’s paper thin. A fifty-seven’ll punch straight through and out the other side.“

There was a distant ‘crack’, and three of our tanks suddenly exploded in spectacular balls of flame and twisted shrapnel. The surviving tanks swerved to avoid the fiery wrecks and immediately trained their turrets on the guns’ location. There was a ripple of fire and several buildings collapsed inwards with a faint groan of masonry, kicking up clouds of dust and smoke.

“Just like that,” she said. We watched silently as the Imperial army and the Marandese proceeded to unload salvo after salvo at one another, reducing the nearside quarter of the city and the field to a pockmarked, rubble-strewn sea of mud, ruins, and wrecked vehicles, “I suppose that the Marandese were never going to make it easy for us.”

“I don’t get it,” I admitted, “I mean, we all know what’s going to happen. We’re going to beat the tar out of the Marandese, they’re going to surrender, and the people who orchestrated this whole thing are going to be publicly executed! What were they hoping to achieve?”

“I don’t know,” Terra said, “What I _do_ know is that I don’t want any of this coming to Wareydon. If that means that _sometimes_ we have to use some force to stop the continent from falling apart, then I guess that’s the price we’ve got to pay. I don’t know; maybe that makes me selfish, but…”

“I know what you mean,” I sighed, “Unfortunately, it looks like the Marandese don’t agree with you.”

Our troops were now close enough to the walls to directly engage the defending infantry. From within the rubble, there came a sudden storm of tracer and PIAT rounds, directed at the weakly armoured mechanised infantry. A couple slewed to a sudden stop, having lost either engines or drivers, but the others pressed on and found cover amongst the debris to allow the infantry to disembark. The Imperial shock troopers moved rapidly through the rubble, methodically engaging and clearing out the defenders with rifles, grenades and flamethrowers. Before long, the Marandese broke before the superior force and fled further back into the city.

"See? Totally pointless," I said shortly, "They just got trounced, and all they have to show for it is a lot of dead bodies."

"This is where it's going to get messy, though," she pointed out, "They can't just flatten Maranda; Celes is going to have to send her troops into all those buildings to make sure that there aren't any clever buggers waiting to ambush the armour. I bet that area's wired from hell to breakfast with all kinds of nasty little traps, too."

“Probably,” I said, “I wonder how Celes is going to deal with this-”

"-wait, Firma,” Terra said suddenly, “Are the Titans moving?"

She was right. The Titan division had formed up into an aggressive wedge formation pointing straight at the heart of Maranda. With slow, lumbering strides, they began marching towards the city, and our troops were rapidly evacuating and peeling off before they arrived.

“Looks like it,” I said, “If Celes was going to use them, why didn’t she send them in earlier? She could’ve avoided getting those tank crews killed.”

“Um, well…” Terra said, “They’re Magitek, like this plane. That means that they’re powered by a Magitek power-pack, and when one of those goes up? It’s spectacular.”

“How spectacular?”

“Well…Maranda wouldn’t be a problem as much as an enormous, smoking crater.”

“You’re kidding."

“Only a little,” she said, “I mean, there’s all kinds of failsafe’s and you’d need a one-in-a-million shot to send it critical, but-“

“One-in-a-million shots happen, yeah,” I nodded, “Anyway, looks like they’re about to fir- Holy Callista!”

The Titan's attack was suitably impressive. There was a momentary pause while the massive tanks redirected power to their main guns, and then with a series of crackling discharges they vented their full wrath upon any section of wall that had withstood the initial assault. Colossal beams of incandescent heat swept across the field, reducing everything in their path to ash and flashing the churned mud into a glowing ceramic. The rays slammed into the thick stone with a titanic crash, blasting it into a spray of red-hot shards and dripping metal that scythed through the streets beyond, obliterating everything in their path. When the light faded, there was nothing left except a trail of flame and smoke, curling lazily into the skies.

“Bloody hell!” Terra agreed, “Well, there goes Maranda. No way can they stand up to that kind of firepower.”

“Hopefully they’ll agree,” I said, “Otherwise…”

There was a short, tense silence, and then uniformed defenders emerged slowly from buildings across the city. They moved slowly, carefully, with their hands raised above their heads, and trudged dispiritedly towards the large, central square. The Titans stirred once again and stepped forwards, shouldering the ruins aside almost effortlessly as they strode after the Marandese forces.

“They’re surrendering,” I said, and released a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding, “Thank heavens.”

“Couldn’t win. Waste of time,” Terra said, almost disgustedly, “Ridiculous waste of lives, too.”

“They must’ve thought it was worth a punt, though,” I said, “I wish I knew why; it’s not like living under the Empire is _that_ awful, right?”

“Seems okay to me,” she agreed, “Except for the food. The food is _terrible_.”

“Maybe that was it.”

* * *

We watched for a while as the defenders continued to file slowly into the square from the surrounding streets. Eventually, every available surface was positively heaving with soldiers, standing, sitting, or gathered together in little groups. Shortly thereafter the Titans arrived and took up positions in a semi-circle around the square, their heavy cannons trained menacingly on the Marandese.

“It kind of feels like we’re wasting our time here,” Terra said eventually, “Do you feel like we’re wasting our time?”

“Jade would say that that’s impossible, ‘cause our time isn’t worth anything,” I said, “On the other hand, we _are_ burning through that Magitek power pack. How about I find out if we’re still needed?”

“Go for it. If we leave soon, we might be back in time for dinner. I’ll probably be hungry enough that I’ll even eat it.”

With a grin I reached for the radio's talk button. Before I could reach it, however, the radio gave a sudden crackle of its own, and the voice of an eager-sounding radio officer crackled through the plane.

"Central to Five, are you receiving me?"

"This is Five," I said, more sharply than I intended, "How can we help, over?"

There was a moment's silence before the Imperial replied, "One moment, Five. I'm just transferring you to General Chere."

"What’s up?" Terra perked up, "What does Celes want with us?"

"Beats me," I shrugged, "Got to be something pretty important, though."

"I'm su-" Terra began, but was immediately cut off by Celes' crisp tones.

“Five, this is Command,” the General began, “You’re probably already aware, but the Marandese have surrendered. The demonstration of the Titans was enough to… _remind_ them where their loyalties lie.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, politely. However we talked to each other in private, I was always very careful to follow protocol in public, “Very good show, ma’am. What happens now?”

“Once we‘ve rounded up the perpetrators, we’ll place the city under martial law,” she said, simply, “The Emperor is minded to be merciful to the rank and file, but the ringleaders will have to face his justice.”

“And what would you like us to do, ma’am?”

“In a few minutes you’ll be free to depart,” she said, “You have a long trip home ahead of you- what? What is it, Colonel? What’s goin-“

The radio went dead, and I felt a sudden disquiet gnawing at my belly.

“What was that about?” I said, “It sounded like she just heard something she didn’t like-“

“Firma!” Terra cried, “The square!”

There was no warning, and no chance to run. The Titans opened fire as one; white fire poured from their enormous cannons and swept across the square in a great, cleansing wave, consuming everything and everyone in its path. Suddenly, everything was ablaze, awash in a sea of flame that licked up and down the legs of the massive Magitek tanks and flooded the square with an awful white light.

“Oh no,” I breathed, “No…”

“Stop! They’ve surrendered!” Terra shouted, “What the-“

The Titans turned their attention to the Marandese Capitol, and with a thunderous roar their cannons spat brilliant bolts of golden lightning. Bolts crackled up and down the sides of the building, and it was suddenly encased in a bright yellow glow that grew in intensity until it hurt to look at - and then, with a blinding flash of light, the building exploded outwards in a storm of stone and glass, driving the fire before it. We watched as the shockwave raced across the city as a ring of white fury, smashing windows and reducing trees to cinders. As the flames cleared from the square, I realised with a jolt that there was nothing left of the murdered soldiers; not even ash.

“Oh my goodness,” I said, and fought down a rising tide of nausea, “I think…I think I’m going to be sick, Tee.”

“The radio crackled, “Command to Five! Report! What do you see?”

“This is Five!” Terra replied, patting me gently on the shoulder “The Titans’ve opened fire; they’ve burned the square and blown up the Capitol! They…” her voice cracked, “They’ve killed everyone, ma’am. They-“

“Understood, Five,” Celes cut her off, “Can you see all the Titans from your position?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Terra took a deep breath, “They haven’t moved.”

“Good. Here’s the situation; the Titans have gone rogue. We will be evacuating the city as fast as we can, but we need you to call out their locations for the artillery until we can get a spotter unit to take over.”

“Ma’am, they have thaumokinetic barriers,” she pointed out, “You’d need a direct hit on the-“

“I don’t need a lesson in Magitek engineering, Five!” Celes said sharply, “I need you to follow my orders. Understood?”

“Um, understood, ma’am,” said my sister, a little chastened.

“And Five, I understand that you are technically a non-combatant observer,” the General went on, “I will be sure to clear this involvement with the Sentinels. Out.”

The radio went silent, and Terra shook her head in the back.

“This _isn’t_ going to work, Firma,” she said firmly, “The thaumokinetic barriers on those Titans are far more powerful than anything either of us can generate. They’ll stop those shells dead in their tracks.”

“We have to do something!” I said, sharply, “Those monsters just incinerated half a company of surrendering soldiers!”

“I know, but-“

“Every shell of ours their barriers stop consumes energy,” I went on, “That’s energy they _can’t_ use to burn anyone else to ashes!”

“I _know_ , but-“ she began, but was interrupted by the distant report of the artillery. The shells whistled through the air, and crashed into the protective barrier surrounding a Titan with a flash of blue light and a shriek of protesting metal. The twisted warheads hung in midair, spinning slowly, and then finally detonated spectacularly. When the smoke cleared, the Titan was scorched but otherwise seemed entirely unaffected.

“Told you,” Terra said, “The barrier’ll block the shell, it’ll catch the shrapnel…useless.”

“Well we’ll have to keep firing!” I said, “It might just be irritating to them, but it’ll give the Marandese a chance to evacuate the city."

“I suppose,” my sister said, and with a sigh engaged the radio and began calling out the locations of the other Titans. Another artillery salvo rained down on the square, as ineffective as the first, “I’m pretty sure the artillery’ll run dry, first.”

“That doesn’t matter! We _have_ to _try_!” I blinked away sudden tears, “Damnit, Tee; not ten minutes ago we were saying that _this_ was a price worth paying for peace across the Empire! Are we mad?”

“You know this wasn’t what we meant, Firma,” Terra said softly, and gripped my shoulder, “I mean…I don’t really know about the Bad Old Days, but surely it can’t be worse than what’s happened here. _Nobody_ deserves this.”

“We’ve got to stop them,” I said, “I don’t how, but-”

“Hold on,” Terra said suddenly, “One of them’s peeling off. Where is it going?”

As if acting on some unheard signal, one of the Titans turned about and began treading out of the square, down a wide avenue strewn with debris. Artillery shells continued to rain down, but it carried on, undaunted and undamaged, towards its unknown destination.

“Five to Command,” Terra said, “One of the Titans has broken off from the line and is heading…somewhere. Should we pursue?”

“Are the other Titans still in the square?”

“That’s affirmative, Command. They aren’t moving.”

“Then find out where it’s going, Five,” came the reply, “The spotter teams will be there shortly.”

“Copy that, Command. Out,” Terra released the radio button and then nudged my seat, “We’d better get in closer.”

“Sure,” I said shortly, and kicked the Wriqurix into a low dive. Wherever it was going, it had to be important enough for it to head out on its own. It wasn’t as if it was just burning everything to the ground, either; its previous targets had been horrific but not completely indiscriminate, so…

“Firma,” my sister said, in a horrified tone, “Firma, I think know where it’s going.”

“Where?” I said, “ _Where_ , Tee?”

Terra pointed to a large, white building at the end of the avenue and my stomach churned in realisation.

“That’s Maranda General Hospital,” I said, hoarsely, “It’s run by the Sentinels. Tee, it’ll-”

“-be receiving the wounded defenders,” she said, grimly.

“See if you can raise them! Quick!” I said, “They might have someone listening on the Sentinel Frequencies.”

“What? Oh, yes,” there was a brief pause, and then “Maranda General Hospital, this is Cadet Branford. We-“

 _“This is Maranda General Hospital to the approaching vehicle,”_ the voice came over the radio, loud and clear, _“We are a neutral Sentinel facility for the treatment of the sick and injured. An attack on us is a war crime under the Vector Convention. Please desist-“_

“Maranda General Hospital!” Terra tried again, “This is Cadet Branford. You must evacuate as many people as you can before that Titan gets within firing range. It will _not_ show you any mercy.”

 _“Cadet Branford,”_ replied the hospital, _“We have many people who cannot_ be _evacuated-“_

“Then save everyone you can!” she said, “We’ll…try to buy you some time. Out.”

“How _are_ we going to buy them some time, Tee?” I said, “What’s the plan?”

Terra was already busying herself with the radio, “This is Five to Command. The Titan is heading for Maranda General Hospital. We think it intends to destroy it. Please direct all available artillery to the following co-ordinates while they evacuate whoever they can.”

“Command to Five,” it was subtle, but the General’s voice was tinged with shock, “Please confirm; you said the hospital?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a pause, and then, “Message received. Please provide co-ordinates.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

“In addition, Professor Chere has directed us to modify our artillery shells with a modified Magitek power pack. The first shell has just now been completed. It should provide us with a means of temporarily deactivating the Titans; long enough, hopefully for us to recapture them. We… _could_ use it on this Titan.”

“That’s a relief, ma’am,” I sighed, and then caught myself, “If I may say so; you don’t seem entirely happy.”

“There are some issues with its deployment,” Celes said, “Chiefly; it will require a higher level of accuracy than you can provide from your current location, and our spotters are still not in position. The only option available at this short notice is for us to track the position of your transponder, which means-“

“We’ll have to be basically on top of it, ma’am,” I said.

“And at low altitude. Two hundred feet or less,” Celes paused, and a note of genuine fear crept into her voice, “Five, you don’t need me to tell you how dangerous this is, and I can’t order you to do this. I’ve already lost Maranda; I can’t lose-”

“Ma’am, if there’s any way to prevent that hospital going up, then we have to try,” Terra said firmly, “Those are Sentinels down there, like my brother. I’m – we’re - not going to let them burn.”

“Very well,” the General said, “We’ll load the artillery shell immediately, and blanket both groups of Titans with saturation bombardment while you get into position. Let us know the _instant_ you are over it, and then get clear and head for home. Out.”

* * *

I had to admit, I was pretty scared. I’d always considered myself a fairly average pilot at best, and here I was, about to fly myself and my twin sister straight at one of the most well-armed, well-armoured pieces of weaponry ever dreamed up by the mad scientists over in the Magitek Facility in Vector. Two hundred feet was only barely twice the height of the Titan as it was, and we would need to be going slow enough as we passed over it for the artillery to actually be able to _use_ the co-ordinates for their disabling strike. It was insane at best, suicidal at worst, and yet I _knew_ that there was no way that either of us would be able to just walk away and let the hospital be destroyed. We had to do _something_ , and this was definitely _something_.

“This is madness,” Terra echoed my thoughts, “You realise that, right?”

“Well, I did ask you earlier if we were mad,” I said, “I guess the answer is ‘yes’. Why; you want to chicken out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my sister said, “I can live with dying if its for a good cause. I just figured that I had maybe another five to seven years left before ‘a good cause’ turned up.”

“On the bright side, you won’t have to worry about birdwatching or making people tea,” I said lightly, “And I won’t get eaten by a chaffinch.”

“And we also won’t have to worry about Anceleti killing us,” she said, “Or rather, you. When he hears about this he’s going to blow his top.”

“Hopefully it’ll be worth it,” I said, and put my hand on the throttle. From where we were, we had a pretty good line of sight on the advancing Titan, and the collapse of the Capitol gave us almost a straight shot, “You ready, Tee? For Maranda.”

“For Maranda,” she agreed, “Let’s show ‘em what it _really_ means to be united! Punch it!”

My stomach lurched as I brought the Wriqurix into a steep dive and opened up the taps. With a jolt of power and a surge of actinic energy, the engines roared angrily to life, and the buildings below rushed towards us in a blur. To one side, I could see the main group of Titans, blanketed under a barrage of artillery fire that almost hid them from view. On the other was our target, still advancing inexorably towards the hospital even as the shells rained down.

“Just get me close enough, Firma,” Terra said tensely, “I’ll handle the timing.”

“Sur-“ I began, and then a sudden alarm blared through the cockpit, “What’s that! We have a weapons lock! Someone must be tracking us!”

“Must be a Titan!” my sister replied, “Watch for those cannons! We get hit by those and we’re done for!”

It wasn’t a cannon. As we hurtled towards the ground, two small stars emerged from within the smoke and streaked towards us, trailing fire in their wake.

“Missiles!” I called, “I’m deploying our flares!”

There was a ‘whump’ as I hit the countermeasures button and broke hard to the right. There was a heart stopping moment as the missiles shot straight past us, and then a bone-rattling explosion came from somewhere far above.

“They took the bait!” I said triumphantly, and hauled back hard on the stick. The Wriqurix responded eagerly, and we were pinned to our seats as we came out of the dive and levelled off just below the target altitude. The buildings below were uncomfortably close, and ahead of us I could see the main body of the Titan coming up far too quickly for comfort.

“Are you ready, Tee?” I shouted, “We’re just about to-“

The alarm blared again, and I threw the Wriqurix to one side as a bolt of molten light coursed by the wing. The plane jolted violently with the sudden heat, and I pulled up as the beam scythed under us and carved up a steeple.

“Holy Callista!” I said, and brought the plane around in a wide circle, “We’ll have to try again!”

“We haven’t got long, Firma!” Terra said warningly, “And they’re gunning for us now!”

“I know,” I said grimly. Within the smoke by the ex-Capitol, I could see the warning glows of Magitek cannons preparing for another shot, “Okay…”

Sweat dripped down my face and hands as I held the flight stick in a death grip. With a muttered prayer, I brought the Wriqurix around in a viciously hard circle to face our target and dropped down low as another near-miss blasted past, shaking the plane half to pieces. Up ahead, I could see our target Titan settle into a firing position, and my blood went cold even as I piled on the speed.

 _“This is Maranda General Hospital to the approaching Titan!”_ the radio crackled, at just the worst moment, _“Please…don’t-“_

I killed the radio, “Tee! It’s about to fire! Be ready!”

“I _am_ ready!” she shouted, as the buildings blurred around us. Another bolt of heat reached out for us, but we were now travelling too fast for the lumbering Titans to draw a bead on us, and at the last second I rose up to the target altitude and-

“Fire!” Terra shouted into the radio, and we arced into the sky. In the distance, above the sounds of the engines, we heard a thunderous retort and a bright blue shell arced high into the sky. Behind us, there was a bright yellow glow and a vicious ‘crack’ as the Titan fired. I brought the Wriqurix around in a sharp banked turn to see the hospital façade sparking and arcing with tell-tale lightning bolts. Slowly, the building started to glow like the Capitol before it, and the intensity steadily built towards its terrible climax-

-and then the modified shell came screaming through the sky like the judgement of the gods. It slammed headlong into the Titan’s thaumokinetic barriers, and there was a blinding flash of blue and white while the two struggled for supremacy. There was another flash, and the Titan’s shields were blown into a shower of motes that drifted gently to the ground. For a moment it seemed as if the tank itself was unaffected, but then it seemed to sag, and the light coming from the Magitek cannons flickered and went out. The glow around the hospital began to fade, and quickly became lost to view.

“We did it!” Terra cried, and pounded excitedly on my shoulder, “We only bloody did it-“

With a noise that almost defied description, Maranda General Hospital erupted into a blaze of heat, light, and shrapnel that engulfed everything nearby. The disabled Titan was bowled over by the force of the shockwave which spread out across and above the city, reaching higher and higher, until-

“Firma!”

“I know!” I shouted, “Brace yourself!”

-we realised, too late, that we were directly in its path. Barely were the words out of my mouth when the shockwave slammed into the Wriqurix as a hail of red hot pellets and flipped us end over end. Terra’s shriek was lost amongst the sudden blare of alarms, and my stomach lurched as the plane dropped like a rock. I fought desperately to regain control against sluggish avionics and a flickering board of red lights, while the once-powerful engines stuttered, wavered, and whined.

“Do something!” Terra shouted.

“I _am_ doing something!” I shouted back. Right on cue, one of the red lights flickered uncertainly to green, and with a brief prayer to Callista I flicked up the safety and hammered my thumb down on the button as hard as I could. The plane leapt forwards as the engines came fully back online, and I levelled the Wriqurix of as the power system, and my nerves, stabilised.

The radio crackled, and I could faintly make out Celes’ voice shouting, “Command to Five! Respond! Command-“

“Five to Command,” I said, and felt tears welling up in my eyes, “We’re…we’re okay.”

“Thank goodness,” the General sighed.

“But the hospital-“

“Five – Firma, I’m sorry. You and Terra are to be commended for your attempt, but…it wasn’t to be.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” my sister said sadly. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as well, “But if we’d just been slightly faster-“

“Nobody could have been faster, Terra,” Celes said, in a surprisingly gentle tone, “Given the constraints that we were all working under, the fact that Titan is disabled is a minor miracle. We have spotter teams and special forces moving in now to recover the remaining vehicles. Believe me, I will make certain that the operators will pay for what they’ve done.”

“And what about us?”

“For now? Head for home. You’ve done enough; more than enough. Get some food, get some sleep, and I’ll see you as soon as I can. Out.”

The radio went dead, and I exchanged a long, haunted look with Terra.

“We failed,” I said, eventually, “I…never thought we’d actually _fail_. You know, not when actual lives were on the line. I always figured we’d somehow muddle through, but-“

“Don’t think like that, Firma,” she said, “Like Celes said, we did our absolute best, and…it just wasn’t to be. We should be proud that we tried, if nothing else.”

“Maybe,” I said. Carefully, I shifted the Wriqurix’s heading towards home, and carefully increased the speed. It didn’t _sound_ like it was damaged, but I was in no mood to take any chances, “Maybe.”

We remained silent all the way back to Wareydon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta reader 'VallasRevas' for providing me with comments and the impetus to actually rewrite this.


	4. Night Terrors

So...that’s that, then. There’s plenty more that could be said about what happened at Maranda, but it's probably best left to the experts. What happened there was an atrocity, pure and simple, and there’s nothing more that needs to be said about that. If you’d like to know more, though, then there’s a permanent exhibition at the Marandese War Museum. It’s got everything you could possibly want; expert descriptions, voice recordings, and a surprisingly even-handed interview with one General Chere. If that’s not enough, in one room you can even watch some footage of the Wriqurix being flown at a Titan platoon by some half-crazed drunken lunatic. I’ll admit that it felt suicidal at the time, but my goodness, actually _seeing_ it brought me out in a stone cold sweat.

Much as I would like it to be the case, though, my airborne antics are hardly the star of the show. Somehow, and I’ve no idea how, they’ve managed to get their hands on the better part of an old Titan. I’m pretty sure it’s the only one left, so if you’re dying to see for yourself what those hulking brutes were _really_ like then it’s probably worth the price of admission all by itself. Be prepared to be intimidated.

In any case, while the burning of Maranda isn’t _exactly_ my fondest memory, it wasn’t even the low point of that _day_. How much worse can things get, you ask? Well, let’s find out!

Day had given way to night by the time the Wriqurix reached the Wareydon Plains. The sky was almost completely clear, and the full moon shone down brightly on the snow-covered hills. I gave the peaceful, ghostly farmland below us a bitter look, and then turned the plane to face the distant lights of home.

Barring a few tentative attempts to strike up a conversation, my sister had stayed quiet throughout the whole trip back. I knew that she was struggling with the brutality of the Titans, but the images of the exploding hospital were still too fresh in my mind. I was going to need some time to decompress and scream, or cry, or _something_ before I could talk about it. None of those things could be done safely while I was flying the Wriqurix.

"Firma?" Terra said quietly from the back of the plane, "Shouldn't you be requesting landing permission? We're getting kind of close to-"

"I know exactly where we are, Tee, and I'll request landing permission in my own time, thank you very much!" I flared, losing control for just a moment. There was a hurt mumble from the back of the plane, and we flew on silently through the ethereal skies until I brought my emotions back under control and swallowed my pride.

"I'm sorry, Tee," I said finally, in a more normal tone of voice, "You didn't deserve that."

"No, I didn't!" Terra replied crossly, but then she softened her tone, "It's okay, though. It's been a rough day."

"No kidding," I muttered ruefully as I reached for the radio, “But yeah, let’s get on the-”

The radio crackled, and the indistinct but recognisable voice of Anceleti hissed through the speakers, “Control to Five. We have you on radar and you’re cleared for runway three. You are to come immediately to my office for debriefing. Understand?”

“Understood, sir,” I said, “Out.”

There was a sudden click as Anceleti signed off, and I blinked in surprise.

“Well, that was abrupt,” I said.

“Did you hear the worry in his voice, Firma?” my sister breathed, “Something big’s going on here.”

“You mean _aside_ from those Titans running amok?” I said, “I mean, what else could there be?”

“C’mon, use your head,” Terra said, “What are the chances that all six Titans would just decide to go rogue at the same time? Those pilots were taking orders from someone else. I’m sure of it.”

“Why would someone do that?” I frowned, “I mean, did they want to set Celes up to fail?”

“I don’t know _why_ they wanted to burn Maranda,” she said, a little testily, “But... you might be right. I mean, you know how funny some people get over women in the army, particularly at the higher ranks. I could easily see somebody setting her up as ‘proof’ that us precious, delicate flowers should just stay in the cookhouse, or something.”

“That’d be a mistake,” I said, “Celes is a liability in the kitchen. Do you remember that fifteenth birthday cake she made us?”

“That’s not nice, Firma; she really tried hard on that thing. I remember she was so proud that she managed to get it to rise.”

“When she lit the candles the entire cake went up, Tee,” I pointed out, “And you didn’t see what happened to the rats that tried it. Believe me; we’re all safer if she sticks to command.”

“Agree- oh, look,” she said, and pointed over my shoulder, “Landing lights!”

The moon was bright enough to see the airstrip even without a guide, but as we approached the yellow and red bulbs winked into existence regardless. With a cheerless smile, I throttled back on the engines and banked up slightly, allowing the Wriqurix to come down on the rear wheels first. There was a slight bounce, then a squeak as the front wheel made contact with the ground, and we were rolling speedily toward my squadron’s hangar. As we approached, I quickly applied the brakes and allowed the plane to come to a halt just outside the light-filled warehouse that held the squadron's whirlybirds. A single, female silhouette stood at the entrance, and raised a single arm in greeting at our approach.

“Where is everyone?” I asked tensely, “There’s no-one here except Jade?”

“I don’t know,” Terra sounded no less edgy, “But I’m _telling_ you, something big is going on.”

I nodded, and quickly undid my restraints and popped the canopy. A rush of chill winter air forced its way into the cockpit, and I was suddenly very grateful for my thick flight suit. Clambering out onto the wing, I motioned for Terra to follow suit, and we both sat on the side of the plane before jumping lightly to the ground. The first thing that struck me was the silence. Despite our proximity to the base, the only sound was of a quiet, cold wind sighing across the airstrip. The diffuse glow of the moon shone down and enveloped the Wriqurix in an unearthly aura, while casting a soft, ghostly sheen across the runway itself.

“Eerie,” Terra remarked.

“Mmm,” I said, and nodded towards the beckoning figure, “We’d better go find out what’s going on.”

We crunched quickly across the snow-dusted runway, our breaths crystallising in the sudden cold. Even with the thick clothing I could feel the chill starting to settle into my bones, and I was eager to get in out of the wind and find myself a hot drink.

“Cadets!” Jade’s crisp voice floated across the tarmac, “C’mon, kiddies; double time it! Time’s wasting!”

From previous experience, I knew full well that minor things like ‘subzero temperatures’ were of no concern to the squadron’s XO. Despite the icy winds, she was wearing no more than a pair of mechanics overalls, and stood watching our hastened approach with a single foot tapping impatiently.

“Is that what passes for ‘double time’ these days, Cadets?” she said disapprovingly, “I’ve seen faster glaciers.”

“Sorry, sir,” we said in unison.

“Given the circumstances, I suppose I’ll have to let it slide-” she stopped suddenly, and fixed me with a severe expression, “Cadet Branford, what _have_ you done to the Wriqurix?”

“Uh-” I looked over my shoulder and saw immediately what she meant. While the top half side of the plane was still a pristine snowy white, the undercarriage was blackened, scorched, and riddled with pockmarks and larger pits, “Um…well-”

“ _How_ have you done that to the Wriqurix?”

“There was-” I began, but the memory of the exploding hospital forced its way into my mind, and the words suddenly stuck in my throat. I felt my hands begin to tremble, “Sir, I-”

“A hospital exploded,” Terra said, “We were caught in the blast.”

“That must have been quite an explosion,” Jade observed, “As you were distinctly ordered to remain as high as possible and out of danger, I can only assume that Maranda is now an inland sea.”

“Um, sir,” my sister began, “Have you...heard what happened?”

“Only snippets, and none of it good,” Jade said, “It’s why I’m here now.”

“Where’s everyone else gone?”

“You should come inside,” she replied curtly, “I’ll let Anceleti explain it to you.”

* * *

Jade turned on her heel and walked briskly across the hangar floor, her footsteps echoing loudly on the hard concrete floor. We followed her between the rows of helicopters, now standing silent and still with no sign of this morning’s chaos. The silence wrapped itself around me like a heavy cloak, and the sense of unease that had been with me since we touched down grew worse with every step. 

Terra was definitely right, I decided. Something very big had happened at Maranda, possibly bigger than the Titans going rogue. I was obviously missing the bigger picture here, but it seemed to me like the world was suddenly holding its breath. Even here, in this remote hangar, I could practically taste the electric anticipation. Someone had let off a firework, or a whole load of fireworks, and now everyone was just waiting for the big display.

We followed the XO up the creaking metal stairs to Anceleti’s office on the mezzanine. She knocked gently on the door, but entered without waiting for a reply. We filed in dutifully after her to find Anceleti standing by a map of the world, poring over it with apparently great interest. Jade took up a position in the corner of the room, arms folded.

“Ah, Cadets,” he said, and indicated two folding chairs, “Sit.”

“But-”

“ _Sit_ ,” he said, and now there was a hint of iron in his voice. Terra and I exchanged a worried glance, and quickly did as he said. Anceleti made a show of studying the map for a moment longer, and then turned to face us from across his desk. His expression was unreadable, but I’d faced enough dressing downs from him to know what was coming.

“I’m very put out with you two,” he said, employing his standard opening, “Can you possibly imagine why that might be?”

“Um, sir-” Terra began, but Anceleti silenced her with a Look.

“That was a rhetorical question, Cadet,” he said, “Now, Firma, I believe that I told you that you were _not_ to be heroes. You were to stay up high, out of harm’s way, and just take notes and photographs. Is that correct, or did you mishear me?”

“That was correct, sir,” I said, and braced myself mentally.

“So _why_ do I have this missive from General Chere?” Anceleti produced a piece of paper with a flourish, “Let’s see; ‘Cadet Branford and Branford displayed exceptional bravery and selflessness in the finest traditions of the Imperial Air Force. Despite knowing the dangers, they _volunteered_ -” he pronounced the word with strong distaste, “-to provide vital forward observation for modified artillery units. This brought them into direct conflict with rogue elements - I mean, do I _really_ need to go on _?”_

Anceleti slammed the piece of paper down on the table, and sat down heavily across from us.

“Are you _mad?_ ” he said, “We send you up in an unarmed airplane and you, a trainee Sentinel, decide to go and get stuck in? Do you have any idea what a _miracle_ it is that you’re in one piece?”

“You should see the plane,” Jade said, rather unhelpfully in my view, “Apparently they got caught in a blast from the hospital.”

“Really? _How_ low were you flying, again?”

“...about two hundred feet,” Terra said quietly, and I resisted the urge to kick her on the ankle.

“Two hundred-!” Anceleti began, in a strangled tone, “ _What_ were you two thinking?”

“I-” I began, and fell silent. Now that I was back on relatively safe ground, the adrenaline and the shock were starting to fade. In their wake, I could feel raw, red anger pouring in, and my hands began to shake once again. 

“Well? I’m waiting!”

“Um, sir?” Jade said, “I think you might want to ask for this to be off the record. Otherwise, I get the feeling that the Cadet here is about to say something that’ll get him written up.”

Anceleti gave me a long look, and then sighed, “Very well. Firma; please tell me what you were thinking.”

“What I was thinking?” I said harshly, “I was thinking ‘what the _hell_ ?’ _!_ They killed _everyone_ , sir! After they surrendered! They rounded them up in the town square, and they...they-”

I stopped, unable to continue. I could feel the tears streaming freely down my cheeks, and every word came out as a choking rattle. Dimly, I was aware of Terra patting me gently on the shoulder. I looked and she gave me a kind, sympathetic smile through tears of her own. 

“Who killed everyone, Firma,” my commanding officer said intently, “ _Who?_ ”

“The Titans, sir,” Terra said, in a trembling voice, “They used this white fire, and...there was nothing left.”

“Not even ash?”

“ _Nothing_ , sir.”

“So the Titans went _rogue_?” Anceleti said incredulously. From behind me I heard a barely stifled gasp of surprise.

“Yes sir,” I said, and dashed my tears away with my hand, “After that they destroyed the Capitol and...one of them went after Maranda General Hospital.”

“Which is when you intervened,” he stated, indicating the paper on his desk, “Bringing you into direct conflict with a ‘rogue element’ of six Titans. In an unarmed plane. Can you tell me _what_ you were trying to accomplish?”

In slow, halting tones, Terra and I repeated back to him what Celes had said to us, and then provided a brief outline of what had actually happened. My CO remained quiet throughout, and aside from a couple of glances at Jade, his expression was unreadable.

“In the end, we...couldn’t save the hospital,” my sister concluded, “We were lucky to save ourselves, actually.”

“You tried, though,” he said.

“We failed.”

“You _tried_. Both of you,” Anceleti said. He stood up, and came round to our side of the table, “I’m sorry for my earlier outburst; I jumped to conclusions based on incomplete information, and that was wrong of me.”

“C’mon, Anceleti; admit you were scared,” Jade sniggered, “I’ve never seen you drink so much coffee in all my life.”

“Okay, fine. I was scared out of my wits!” he said, and shot Jade an irritated look, “And so were you!”

Jade shrugged, “Yeah. That’s fair.”

“You two are both _clearly_ insane,” Anceleti said, “But...putting your lives at risk to save innocents _is_ in the finest traditions of the Imperial Air Force. I’m very proud of both of you - just never, _ever_ do it again.”

“That aside, why _didn’t_ General Chere mention the Titans?” said Jade, “Insecure channel?”

“That’s my best guess,” said Anceleti, “Communiques like this are meant to be public knowledge, and having rogue Titans splashed all over tomorrow’s newspapers would be bad for everyone.” 

“Mmm,” the XO snorted, “I can’t _wait_ to see how the media department spins this one.”

“But this new information just confirms what I was already thinking. It’s why I had you send everyone away, Jade.”

“Yeah, about that-”

“Hold on,” he said, and pinned Terra and myself with an intense gaze, “You two need to listen very carefully at this point, okay? Once we’re done here, I need you to go back to your barracks and _stay there_. The Titans going rogue is just a symptom of something much bigger, and much more dangerous, and I want you two out of it as much as possible. Do you understand?”

There was a long silence in the wake of his statement, and I exchanged a worried look with my sister. She swallowed visibly, and nodded.

“Good,” said Anceleti, “Now, I'm pretty sure that you know why Jade's squadron never made it to Maranda, don't you."

"They were ordered back, weren't they," Terra stated flatly, "Someone with the authority to order them to return to base called them back so...they couldn’t damage the Titans?”

“ _Risk_ damaging the Titans,” Anceleti smiled humourlessly, “You probably know better than I how strong those Magitek barriers are-”

“Thaumokinectic barriers, sir,” Terra supplied helpfully.

“QED,” he said, “I’m thinking, though, that a concentrated barrage of missile and cannon fire might be able to overload one. If they couldn’t, then why recall Jade?”

"Okay, but wait…" I shook my head, "Why would anyone order them back in the first place? I mean, who could _possibly_ want to burn a city filled with innocent people to the ground?"

"I think you know, don't you," Anceleti said darkly, and looked across at Terra, "Your sister does."

I looked at my CO, then at Terra, and then back at the CO again.

"It was Kefka, wasn't it," I said quietly.

"Either him or someone associated with him," Anceleti nodded, "That's why I want you to be so careful."

"Okay, fine – I still don't get it. What does Kefka possibly have to gain from doing this?" I gave the Major a quizzical look, "As far as I can see, he'll just be court-martialed and executed."

Jade muttered something under her breath in response.

"I’m sorry, sir; what was that?" I asked suspiciously.

"She said 'I doubt it', if you're wondering. She's right, too," Anceleti's lips pressed together into a fine line, "You won't find a court who'll convict Kefka, and if anything this has just cemented his power base. He’s clearly got the kind of influence needed to subvert a Titan platoon, and he’s likely got his claws deep into all three services. Intelligence, too.”

"Oh no, I get it – he could just have 'em assassinated," I sighed and sat back, "Well, we all know that Kefka loves power above everything else. Aside from the fact that we were there, what does this have to do with _us_?”

“You really don’t know?” said Jade.

“Sorry, sir,” I said, turning in my seat, “But in between training to be a Sentinel and bringing you tea, I haven’t had time to open that detective agency I’ve always wanted.”

“I suppose you were going to find out eventually,” she sighed, “We’ve been trying to shield you from it, but you two have a serious amount of clout within the upper echelons of the armed forces. We’ve had no end of top brass attempting to get you under their personal control.”

“Really?” Terra looked surprised, “ _Really?_ ”

“The only two Mage Knights in a thousand years? A pair of teenage magical supersoldiers?” Jade laughed sardonically, “Yeah, really.”

“Then why don’t they pay me more?”

“Because you’re both far too naive and trusting for your own good. You’re like a pair of eager puppies that we’re still trying to housebreak.”

“Jade’s right,” Anceleti said, and earned himself a glower from both of us, “Yes, including that last bit. In any case, it seems like Kefka’s plan has been to demonstrate his clout, so that everyone’ll be too scared to complain when he moves in for you two.”

“Which seems like the kind of thing he’d do,” I agreed, “But...you don’t have any actual _evidence_. I mean, how do we know that the Titan operators didn’t just put their heads together and decide to go a bit nuts?”

“That seems unlikely,” said Anceleti, “Those operators are handpicked from the best.”

"I think he's right, Firma," my sister cut in, "Look; we have to do _something_. I don’t want to work for Kefka, but I also don’t want to get up getting killed in some crazy power struggle.”

“Kefka wouldn’t want you dead, Cadet,” Anceleti said darkly, “Not when there’s a possibility that he might be able to control you.”

“That is _never_ going to happen!” Terra said furiously, “I won’t so much as light a candle for him!”

“Look, kiddies,” said Jade, “Maybe we’ve got nothing to worry about. General Kefka is still outranked by General Leo, and he’s got far more popular support both in the armed forces and across the Empire. If he puts his foot down hard on Kefka, then this’ll probably all blow over. If it goes any higher, though-”

"-you mean, if Kefka has the implicit support of Emperor Gestahl?" Terra blinked.

"That was a bit of a leap, but yeah. We know that the current Emperor is pinning all his hopes on Magitek, and most of _that_ falls under Kefka’s influence. No way he doesn’t have Gestahl’s ear.”

“Indeed,” Anceleti’s expression was deadly serious, "I'll be blunt. I've served the Empire for almost fifteen years, and I have never seen it in anything approaching the state that it is in now. I would love to be able to tell you to go back to your room and take tomorrow off, but…”

“...but what?” I said suspiciously.

“You have to get off the Southern Continent. Both of you, as quickly as possible. You need to disappear.”

“We don’t know that you’ll be safer anywhere else,” added Jade, “But if you stay here it’ll only be a matter of time before Kefka comes after you. Nothing we could do about that; that madman’s in a league of his own.”

There was a long silence, while we digested the words of my CO and XO.

"Crikey," I said finally, "That's a lot of a statement. How on earth are we meant to pull that off?"

"Simple, and this is why I had everyone sent away," Anceleti leaned in, and motioned us to do the same, "The Wriquirix might be damaged, but considering you flew it home that’s all likely to be superficial. When you leave, Jade and I will replace the powerpack and get it ready to go. If you come back here in six hours, she'll be ready and waiting for you.”

“Where should we go, though?” 

“Take her and fly north over the sea to the Kingdom of Figaro,” he said, “Your best bet is to try to get in contact with the Sentinels at Castle Sacae. King Edgar _might_ be sympathetic to your cause, too, but that would be a very high-profile risk."

"Plus, Firma has a habit of putting his foot in his mouth," Terra gave me a sly look, "What about you two?"

"I'll be fine," Anceleti nodded at me, "Remember, I used to work in Intelligence.”

“And I’m not about to lie down and die for Kefka’s benefit,” said Jade, “If he thinks that, he’s got another think coming.”

"This is all happening so fast," I said, and slumped down in my seat, "I can't believe that I thought today was just going to be a simple trip to the winter war games."

"You're going to have to move fast if you want to stay alive, you two," Anceleti said shortly, "You have six hours to prepare. I suggest you use it."

* * *

So, let’s recap! By now, you’ve probably clocked that the Titan attack in Maranda was not just the actions of a bunch of evil-minded rogue operators. While that might be the more comforting scenario (for a given value of ‘comforting’), it doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense. Magitek vehicles hit _ridiculously_ hard and can take an awful lot of punishment before going down, so it doesn’t take a genius to recognise that having a Titan fall into the wrong hands would be an unmitigated catastrophe.

Now, having identified that ‘Titans running amok’ is an undesirable scenario, you’d think that the Empire would’ve considered a countermeasure with more impetus than ‘asking them nicely to stop’. Some sort of kill switch, perhaps, or possibly making them only _mostly_ invulnerable? Well, dream on; those things cost money, and there’s nobody quite like the Empire for doing things on the cheap. What _they_ landed on was the idea that all operators would be handpicked, and they would all undergo a series of complex psychometric tests. These would make sure that potential operators weren’t glory hounds, medal seekers, or my sister, and ensure that the unbelievable firepower of the Titans would be kept under tight control. Foolproof, right?

Well, no. You see, there was one teeny, tiny, almost invisible flaw with this plan. That flaw, as it turns out, was that the test was designed and written by a certain power-mad general with a penchant for clown makeup. Instead of reasonable questions like ‘Do you pinky swear not to incinerate surrendering soldiers? No backsies!’, the test basically contained things like ‘In 500 words or less, explain why Kefka’s cloak goes so well with his boots. Show your working.’. Unsurprisingly, the ones who passed just _happened_ to be those who had already sworn to Kefka’s service. The ones who didn’t? Well, they got to discover just how... _versatile_ an industrial grade wood chipper can be.

This brings us to this point. The point at which Kefka, the man with cloaks of many colours and a twenty-four hour wood chipping service, decided to make his move. Did you think we’d reached the low point of my day? We’re not even _close_.

* * *

My commanding officers had certainly given us plenty to mull over. As soon as we’d left his office, Terra and I quickly stripped off our sweaty flight suits and headed out for home across the snowy fields. The wind was blowing more fiercely now, and chilled us to the bone as it scythed mercilessly across the winter grass.

"So…what do you think of all of that?" Terra asked tentatively, once we were a short distance from the hangar.

"What do I think?" I took a deep, icy cold breath, “Goddess, Tee, I don’t know _what_ to think. This is _mental_.”

“I know!”

“I mean…” I waved my hand through the drifting snow, “Nope, I’ve got nothing more. It’s _mental_.”

“Well, can you start thinking about it?” Terra said tensely, “This is serious stuff! If we leave the Empire we’ll be _deserters_ , possibly even traitors! You’re a Sentinel, at least, but the army is my life! What am I going to _do_?”

“I don’t know!” I said helplessly, “This is a lot to take in! This morning I thought it was just going to be a lovely day! All I can think about now is how to stay one step ahead of our self-appointed arch enemy. I mean, Kefka has enough power to crush us like a bug, and if it’s all the same to you I quite like my exoskeleton.”

"Okay,” Terra took a long, deep breath, and exhaled slowly, "Firma, we have, between us, a couple of vocational qualifications, a thousand quid, and your award winning sense of humour. How far are those things going to get us? We’ll starve to death within a week!"

“I know. Really, I do,” I said, “But if Anceleti is right, we need to focus on actually living long enough _to_ starve to death! What that means is that we need to get back home, get our stuff together, and _rest_ . The Wriqurix won’t be ready for another six hours, and how far do you think we’d get without it? Five miles, maybe? Ten? It’s _cold_ out here, Tee.”

"I...guess you're right," Terra gave me a wan smile, "I’m just jittery after everything Anceleti said.”

“Just ‘jittery’?” I said, “That seems like a rather _mild_ response to being told we might be being hunted by Kefka.”

“Well…I’m also kind of excited. We’re going to see the _world_ , Firma, and not just the bit under the control of the Empire! Can you imagine that? Not having to get up and run around like maniacs, or stack crates because some sergeant can’t think of a better use of our time? It’s summer in Figaro, too!”

I brightened slightly, “Well, that _is_ true…”

"And you never know; maybe we'll be able to come back when it's all over," Terra said jokingly, in a rather dismal attempt to lighten the mood, "Maybe we'll even get awards for innovation!"

Despite Terra’s terrible joke, neither of us were _really_ under the illusion that we’d ever be coming back to the Empire. If nothing else, fleeing the continent in one of the only Magitek-powered planes would ensure that we’d be on Imperial Intelligence’s blacklist for life. We both knew, although we didn’t want to actually _say_ it, that we’d be spending the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. The Wraiths had a long arm, and there was no way they were going to take a humiliation like the one we were about to inflict lying down.

That being said, there was a definite attraction at being out from under the authoritarian, tightly time-tabled grip of the Imperial Army. I might have mocked Terra’s fears about being trapped in Wareydon, but until now I hadn’t realised just how _badly_ it chafed. Suddenly, I found myself longing for the blue oceans, lazy beaches, and olive groves of the Figaran Coast with an intensity that almost hurt. I wanted to be away from this dark, snow-covered, windswept base right _now_ . Not in six hours, _now_.

It took us maybe another twenty minutes to stagger across the large, snowy field and work our way back into our base. Although we had spent all day getting to and from Maranda, the majority of our comrades-in-arms were still out happily taking part in the winter war games, leaving behind a largely empty base. We received a strange glance from a passing serviceman as we hurried across the icy parade grounds, but aside from that we encountered no one else.

Before we could retreat to the dubious comforts of our room, there was the minor matter of signing in with the duty officer. While at night this role was performed by a dull yet astoundingly anal soldier, the daytime officer was a friendly, portly man with a cheery red face and a receding hairline. Technically speaking he was to be addressed as 'Sergeant Reginald', he was quite happy to be addressed as 'Reg', unless there were any brass around. As we approached the barracks, we could hear the deep, guttural noises of Reg's nasal cavity getting its daily workout, and it was not _particularly_ surprising to find the man in question fast asleep in his chair.

"Evenin’, Reg!" Terra said cheerily, stepping up to the simple wooden desk that served as our barracks reception. There was no response, so Terra leaned forward and gave him a gentle shake on the shoulder, “Hey, Reg. You alright?”

"I don't see you driving your boot into _his_ spleen," I muttered from her side, and she gave me a faintly amused look. Before she could reply, there was a spectacular series of grunts and snorts as Reg's brain slowly came to life.

"W-wh-what's that you say, my lad?" he said in a plummy Vectorian accent, “Oh, I say, Cadet Branford, it's awfully bad form to wake an old war dog like me when I'm sleeping."

"I'm sorry, sir," Terra said politely, "But we'd like to sign in."

"What?" Reg looked around, and after a moment something seemed to click in his mind, "Oh, of course my dear, of course."

He disappeared under the desk for a moment before returning with a frightfully large, black-bound book that he set down firmly on the table and opened to the day’s date.

"There you go, Cadet Branford," he said brightly, and provided a pen with a flourish, "Sign away!"

“Thanks, Reg,” there was a quick scribble as she signed her name, and then she stepped aside and handed me the pen. I looked at the book, and then regarded her with a rather irritated look.

“Tee?” I said, with a glassy grin, “Can you _please_ use a signature that doesn’t take up three bloody lines in the bloody book? Where am _I_ meant to sign?”

My sister gave an emphatic yet unsympathetic shrug in response, and motioned that I should finish signing in. Scowling, I found a small space amongst her ludicrously elaborate penmanship and inserted my initials.

"There you go, Reg," I snapped the book closed and pushed it back across the desk to the duty officer, only to find that he had already drifted back off to sleep.

"I think he's been at the brandy again," Terra said softly, and gave the duty officer a gentle look.

"Yeah," I replied, "Sooner or later his liver's going to give out…but anyway-" I placed the pen lightly on top of the book and turned away, "I think he’s got the right idea; I need a snooze."

* * *

Our room was pretty much as I had left it in the morning – large, cold, and filled with useless, matchstick furniture that had apparently been given to us as some kind of perverse practical joke. However, there was one immediately noticeable difference about my side of the room.

"Tee?" I asked, almost too sweetly, "Have you been tidying up my stuff again?"

“You know the rules, Firma,” she said calmly, as she crossed the room to her small, bedside wardrobe, “If your stuff goes over the line, I burn it.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, “Now, what did you _actually_ do with my stuff?”

"I put it in the big drawer, Firma," Terra said, with just the slightest hint of admonition in her voice, "You know, that large wooden box-like thing that's really much better for storing your stuff then the floor."

"Okay, okay," I rolled my eyes and yanked the drawer open, revealing a pile of unfolded Sentinel uniforms and a couple of bags. Moving quickly, I gathered up as much stuff as would reasonably fit and laid it out on the bed.

“What do you think we’re gonna need?” I said, surveying it with a critical eye, “Clothes, obviously, and washbags. Do you think we’ll need food?”

“I’ll get some from the canteen in a sec,” Terra promised, “They’ll still be serving.”

“Oh, and hats.”

“Hats?”

“Yeah, hats,” I said, and gave my sister a long look, “C’mon, Tee, if we get to Figaro, we aren’t exactly going to blend in.”

“Well-”

“Have _you_ ever seen anyone else with green hair and glowing eyes? ‘Cause I haven’t, and I doubt they’ve been hiding out in Figaro.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” Terra’s hand went self-consciously to her jade locks, “We _could_ always bleach it.”

“You remember what happened last time you tried that?” I said, “How long did it stay bleached?”

“Not long,” Terra sighed, “And I suppose I don’t _really_ want to start every day by dunking my head in a barrel of cleaning products.”

“Exactly. If we don’t want to get caught on the spot, we’ll have to wear hats. Probably sunglasses, too.”

“That still seems like it's going to be pretty obvious,” she said, “I mean, a pair of Vectorans wearing beanie caps in the middle of a Figaran summer?”

“We’ll just claim we’re tourists,” I said, “‘Seems less obvious than the alternative.”

“Yeah…” Terra paused, and looked sadly around the room, “This is really happening, isn’t it. We’re really leaving.”

“That’s the plan,” I said, and sat down on my bed, “Are you okay?”

“I...don’t know,” she said, and flopped down beside me, “I don’t know what to feel! I’m scared, then I’m excited, then I’m sad, and now I’m _angry!_ Everything’s happening so fast!”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.

“I know I said that I couldn’t wait to get out of Wareydon,” she went on, “But now we’re being _chased_ out I...kinda don’t want to leave. This is our home, damnit! Why do we have to leave _our_ friends and _our_ stuff behind ‘cause of some damn power play? Why can’t they just leave us _alone_?”

“‘Cause we’re _special_ , Tee,” I said, and laughed hollowly, “We’re _unique_.”

“How could I forget?” she said, and then fixed me with a very serious look, “Okay; enough wallowing. We are going to make this _work_ , Firma. Whatever the Empire throws at us, we’re going to _survive_. We’re going to keep on surviving until we either find our way home or we’ve made a new home, and we’ll do it together. Got that?”

“Nice speech,” I said, “Branfords against the world, eh?”

“Feels like it sometimes, eh?” she smiled wryly, and stood up in a single fluid motion, “Right, I’m going to get us some food. You make sure that we’ve got everything we need for our, um, _holiday_.”

“Got it,” I said, and then added, “Team Branford, away!”

Terra gave me a disbelieving look and then shook her head once, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

* * *

Right now, I’m pretty sure that there’s some bugger who’s sitting there, shaking their head, and saying something like ‘Hold on, you handsome devil, you aren’t meant to just _suddenly_ bring up that you have green hair! That’s not how this is meant to work!’. In response, I would say ‘yup’, and add that anyone who thinks that this is meant to work in _any_ sense is hilariously optimistic. Besides, I _did_ provide fair warning at the start, so it’s a bit late to demand your money back now.

That being said, I would like to take some time out to discuss the matter of ‘stupid hair and eye colourings’. Now, everyone knows that if you’re a fantasy writing hack, the first thing you do is make sure that your protagonist has some distinguishing feature that, well, _distinguishes_ them from the drab, featureless lump of rash-covered biomass that makes up the rest of humanity. There’s a number of ways of doing this, but the ones that are settled on by almost _everyone_ are ‘hair with unusual properties’ and ‘eyes that glow’. I’d like to personally request a moratorium on these, because while the principle might sound awesome, in reality it’s a serious colossal _faff_. 

I mean, let’s think about this; my features identify me as a Mage Knight. That’s great; there’s large portions of the world where that carries a lot of currency, and it means that I always get a seat at the bar if I want it. Unfortunately, there are _also_ large portions of the world where the local citizenry would rather throw me in a lake or set me on fire, and this fact is often only discovered _after_ the wicker man has gone up and the bee helmet is fully loaded. At this point, disengaging smoothly from the situation becomes a trifle difficult, on account of the fact that I blend into topiary better than a howling mob wearing white robes and wielding sickles. It’s not even like hiding and waiting for nightfall is a great option, as at that point the very act of _opening my eyes_ gives my position away. This has resulted (on at least one occasion) in my fellow sacrifices having to lead me through a forest blindfolded, to avoid us being ‘purified’ by self-righteous fanatics.

Now, I’ll admit that being hunted through the woods is an uncommon occurrence, but there’s a load of other issues that writers simply don’t take account of. For instance, my ‘distinctive’ features, coupled with my reputation as a bit of a doormat, means that people can both clock me at range and feel entitled enough to demand that their aches and pains receive my immediate, full, and undivided attention. This has happened in the most ridiculous places; on a walk, at the beach, or (in one infamous case) during a long-awaited anniversary dinner, which resulted in my fiancee losing her rag in spectacular fashion. The resulting fallout is a bit of a blur, but I’m pretty sure the man fled before she made good on her threat to examine his prostate with a lobster claw.

In conclusion, I make this plea; don’t condemn your characters to a life of off-the-clock hardship by lumbering them with non-standard hair and eye colours. Instead, consider maybe giving them the kind of features that couldn’t be picked out in a police lineup if they were the only suspect. I mean, is it really _so_ bad to be a drab, featureless, rash-covered lump? I personally think there’s quite a lot to recommend it.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep at some point. I know this, because the next thing I was aware of was my boot, being driven into my kidneys at an appreciable fraction of the speed of sound. Biting down a curse, I sat up clutching at the offended organ and turned to give my twin a rather nasty glare.

"Tee, why the hell do you-"

"No time for that, Firma," Terra said quickly, and shoved both boots into my hands, "Get ready! We need to get moving!"

"Huh? What?" I yawned indistinctly, and pulled the clodhoppers onto their respective feet, "Has six hours gone by already? What's the time?"

"You got four hours sleep," my sister replied shortly, "I hope it was enough - for both our sakes!”

"Well, I'd like some coffee-"

"No time for that either!" Terra gestured frantically at my pathetic boot lacing attempts, "C'mon, Firma! We don't have a lot of time!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" I said, my mind still clouded by sleep, "The Wriqurix isn't going to be ready for another two hours. We've got loads of time."

"No, Firma, we don't," Terra said intently. Frowning, I looked up from my attempt at lacing the Gordian knot to inspect her expression a little more closely.

"Okay, Tee – what's wrong? You're getting yourself all worked up over something. What is it?"

"You mean you can't sense him?" now that I was listening, Terra's voice definitely contained a high-tension thrum that wasn't there earlier, "You can't feel him?"

“Feel _who_ , Tee?” 

"For gods’ sake!” Terra snapped, and clapped her hands down hard on my shoulders, “Close your eyes and _concentrate_ , Firma!”

I gave her a long look and then a light came on in my mind, “Hold on, are you talking about _Kefka?_ ”

Terra nodded slowly with wide, unblinking eyes, "I think he knows that we're going to try and escape tonight, Firma," she said slowly, and took a deep breath, "I think he's coming for us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to VallasRevas for Beta'ing.


	5. Moonlight Run

Just a quick interjection here before we get hounded out of house and home. Following that last tense declaration by my sister, you’re no doubt sitting back with your brandy (or similarly flammable concoction) and asking something like ‘Firmament, my dear fellow, just  _ how _ in the blue blazes did Terra know that Kefka was on his way?’. It’s a pretty valid question, and it's one that bears answering now - particularly as I bet some of you are still smarting about that whole ‘green hair’ revelation. Consider this an olive branch, eh?

So, we all already know about ‘Mage Knights’, which are basically ‘people what can use magic’. It goes a  _ little _ further than that, though; Mage Knights are  _ born  _ with magical abilities, which probably makes the delivery even more entertaining than normal. We’re more than magicians; magic is a part of us, just like an arm or that dangly thing at the back of your throat (the uvula, if you were wondering) and we need it in the same kind of way that we all need oxygen. No magic? No Mage Knights.

Now, the thing about  _ being _ magic is that you’re sensitive to how it shifts and bends around other magical (or magically enhanced) entities. In the same way that mass warps physical spacetime, centres of magical power warp the fabric of ‘thaumic’ spacetime, with more powerful entities exerting a greater effect. While Terra and I can both sense this, we experience it in different ways. My poor twin can’t  _ help  _ but sense everything; it’s a constant, indistinct noise in her head that she can’t shut out (which may go some way to explain why she’s the way she is). I, meanwhile, can’t sense anything unless I close my eyes and concentrate. While it might sound like I’ve gotten the better deal, it’s worth noting that nothing with even a sniff of magical ability (like Kefka) will ever be able to sneak up on my sister.

We’ll return to this a bit more in the future when we come to ‘Magitek Knights’ (a.k.a. ‘the knockoff sweatshop variant’), and at that point I might even remember to define the word ‘thaumic’. For now, however, let’s get back to the action! 

* * *

"Kefka's coming for us?" I echoed, "Oh, come on! How could he  _ possibly _ know that we were planning on leaving tonight? I mean,  _ we _ didn't know about this five hours ago!"

"You don't believe me?" Terra said incredulously, "Firma-!"

"No no, I believe you!" I replied quickly, "I just want to know how the hell our good General Palazzo managed to figure something out faster than we did!"

"Well, if we stick around long enough you'll be able to ask him yourself. We need to leave now!"

"Yeah, you're right," I nodded, "You reckon we got everything we need?”

"I think so,” Terra pressed a bulging knapsack into my hands, "’Best we could do on such short notice, anyway.”

"It'll do," I said shortly, and slung it across my back, "I mean, if the worst comes to the worst, we could always sell the Wriqurix. How much do you think Figaro’d pay for a state-of-the-art Magitek warplane?"

The corridor outside was as dark as ever, but somehow the shadows seemed just that little bit colder and more oppressive. The only illumination came from a large window near the fire exit, through which streamed the ghostly light of the full moon outside. It seemed wan and sickly, just a tiny pool of light in the otherwise inky blackness of the-

"Stop ruminating, Firma!" Terra jabbed me in the back, "You’re blocking the doorway!"

"Sorry," I replied, and stepped out of her way, "I'm just feeling skittish. Everything seems to be...darker, somehow?"

My sister looked around and shrugged, “‘Seems the same to me. Anyway, we’d better get out of here.”

From our room, it was pretty easy to reach the exit. All one had to do was reach the stairwell, pop down one flight of stairs and then cross the foyer to the main doors. As we crept along, however, the feeling of disquiet built inside until I was  _ sure  _ that something was horribly, horribly awry. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck slowly begin to rise.

“Stop!” I whispered, and Terra shot me a scared look.

"What?" she said anxiously, and then dropped her voice to a whisper as I put a finger to my lips, "What's wrong?"

"It's dark," I hissed tensely, "That's what's wrong! It's far too dark!"

"What are you talking about? It's been this dark before loads of times," she paused to consider this, before adding, "Almost every night, actually."

"But where's the light above the fire exit?” I raised my hand, and pointed back down the corridor in the direction we had come, “Where're the little track lights in the ceiling?"

"That's a good point," Terra blinked once in the deep gloom, "That's the emergency circuit, isn't it? I don't think that's ever gone out. I’m pretty sure it’d only go out if someone cut the power."

“Why’d they do that?” I frowned, “I mean, it’s not like those things produce  _ much  _ light.”

“It’s not just the lights, Firma,” she said, “The fire alarms on the doors’re also powered by that circuit…”

As one, we turned to give the fire door down our end of the corridor a suspicious look. For its part, the door stayed perfectly still as it had always done, although I could've sworn it had suddenly acquired a faintly smug edge.

"I...think we should get away from that door," Terra said carefully.

"Agreed.”

Unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing about the foyer that settled our nerves. While it was normally well lit even in the wee hours of the morning, now it was plunged into deep, silent shadow. The moon shone through the trees outside, casting long-fingered silhouettes that clawed at the reception desk and shivered in the bitter wind. Despite our best efforts our boots echoed loudly on the hard tile floor, and I winced with every step as we made our way slowly towards the front door and freedom.

“Creepy,” Terra remarked quietly, “It’s so quiet. It’s never been this quiet.”

“Yeah,” I said, “Where’s Sergeant Atkins?”

“Maybe he went to check the fuses?” my sister said hopefully, although her expression was one of obvious dread.

“Maybe. On the bright side, he’s not here to...what, Tee?”

Terra had stopped midstep, and was looking intently across the room to a spot just underneath the desk.

"Firma..." she said distantly, "You're the medical expert here. Could...is...is that an arm over there?"

Following her gaze, I thought I could just about make out a pasty-white set of five fingers poking out from the side of the desk, and the hint of a standard olive-coloured Imperial cuff.

"Looks like it," I replied, and tried to keep the sudden thrill of fear out of my voice, "One sec, Tee. I'll go check it out."

"Firma – wait!" Terra whispered, but I had already started across the room towards the mysterious arm and its equally mysterious owner. If my suspicions were correct, then the Empire would be needing to put applications out for one replacement night-time duty officer, but-

"Sod!" I recoiled involuntarily as a sharp, lilac-like smell reached my nostrils, "Tee, stay back. There's poison around. A  _ lot _ of poison!"

"What’re you talking about?" there was a rapid clatter, and Terra appeared at my shoulder, "Wait...what's that smell? It’s kinda nice."

"That? Oh, it’s nothing. Just a highly potent, fast-acting sedative," I said through gritted teeth, "That's why I told you to stay back!”

“Oh, right,” she said, “I guess that must be the work of Kefka’s advance party. ‘Kind of surprised they didn’t just kill him.”

“It  _ is _ odd, isn’t it,” I agreed, “It’s also odd that we haven’t run into them; I mean, there’s only one route from our room to here…”

“Doesn’t matter right now,” she said, “Will he be okay?”

“He’ll have a massive headache, but-”

“Great, then let’s go. This is all  _ way  _ too sinister for my tastes.”

Before I could reply, there was a sudden flare of light through the main doors. Through the trees, I could make out the headlamps of rapidly approaching vehicles, and through my feet I could feel the deep, bass rumble of their heavy engines.

"Too late," I whispered, "That's Kefka in there, isn't it."

Terra nodded silently, her face dead white.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" I swallowed, "If Kefka's here that has to mean that he's got men all around the outside of the building. I think we've lost this game before it's even gotten started."

"I don't think so," Terra said, in cold, even tones, "I'm not going to let Kefka take us without a fight, Firma. If his troops get in the way, well-" there was a dim flicker of flame in the darkness, just enough for me to catch the frightening expression etched across her face, "-they won't be there for long."

“That’s great, Tee, but those aren’t going to be the rank-and-file out there. They’ll be ready for us,” I said, “Magic or not, I don’t really see any fights ending well for us - even before Kefka sticks his oar in.”

“So what do you suggest?”

I thought for a moment, "How about the canteen fire exit? It’s ‘round the back, well hidden, and then it’s a straight shot across the fields to the hangars.”

“But that door’s alarme...oh, right,” Terra smiled, “Very sporting of them to cut the power, wasn’t it?”

“Yup,” I turned away from the main doors, and we pelted down the corridor that led to the canteen. The heavy double doors were approximately halfway down the corridor, at this time of night they should have been closed and locked tight. They were not; instead, they stood plainly ajar, inviting us into the relative safety of the darkened room beyond.

"That's...not right," I said, drawing to a halt outside the doors, "I don't like this."

“Neither do I,” said Terra, “But we don’t have time for a debate.”

“But don’t you feel like we’re being herded, or something?” I pressed, “There’s someone in here who’s anticipating what we’re going to do before we do it. They’ve killed the lights, knocked out the duty officer, unlocked these doors. How do we know that we’re not being lured into-”

Suddenly, there was a tremendous  _ 'bang!' _ back down in the foyer. Terra and I both turned suddenly to see the cones of a dozen flash lights stabbing through the dusty gloom, accompanied by the strangely resonant thudding noise of a large amount of men trying to move quietly. Before I could react to their sudden appearance, my sister grabbed my collar and all but threw me through the door. As I went sprawling, she ducked inside herself and closed it with a gentle ‘click’ behind us.

"Well, that settles it," Terra said firmly, and then caught my annoyed expression, "Hey, ease off! I didn't really have a choice there."

“A bit of warning would’ve been nice,” I said, and dusted myself off as best I could, “Still, you’re right.”

“You missed a spot,” Terra said, pointing at my shoulder, “Door’s in the kitchen, right?”

“Yeah, at the back.”

The canteen was a completely different animal in the dark. While, admittedly, I didn't really like the obscenely bright strip-lighting that illuminated the place during working hours, it at least managed to keep the shadows at bay. Without light, the room suddenly seemed a whole lot bigger and infinitely more menacing, and I felt my hackles rise as we picked our way carefully between the glinting tables. From somewhere overhead, I heard the distant ‘thud-thud-thud’ of boots moving in unison, and then we both jumped as a ‘bang’ echoed through the corridors.

“That was our door,” my sister said nervously. 

“Yeah,” I said, and took a firm grip on the kitchen doorknob, “I  _ know _ this one should be locked. Let’s just hope that-”

There was a soft click as the knob turned easily in my hand, and with an almost painfully loud screech of fatigue-warn hinges the door swung inwards, revealing a kitchen well-lit by the ghostly light of the full moon.

"Well, wasn't  _ that  _ interesting?" I gave my sister a cheerless smirk, “Our benefactor strikes again.”

“As long as they keep striking, I don’t care,” she said, and pushed past me into the kitchens.

Our accommodation block cookhouse was a place fabled in myth and legend amongst the hapless recruits who had to eat its produce. It certainly seemed unlikely to everyone that food so terrible as what we were given could be made without some kind of dark, eldritch machinery. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite that interesting. As far as I could see, all the kitchens consisted of were a few metal benches in the centre of the room, and some cupboards and sinks built into the walls. A few grey cabinets at either end of the room probably held most of the ingredients for cooking, but I wasn't about to waste time checking with Kefka’s hounds practically breathing down our necks.

“You had to peel potatoes in here once, didn’t you?” I remarked, and Terra shot me an irritated glance.

“Don’t remind me,” she said flatly, and then added, “For three hours! I almost got another three hours ‘cause I complained that the peeler was blunt!”

“You never did say what you did to deserve that.”

“I was ‘right’ to a superior officer,” she said, “He didn’t like me correcting him.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you-”

"Wait; there's that smell again," Terra said. She took a deep breath and smiled, "It’s lovely...but it's not toxic, is it?"

"Only in large quantities," I reassured her, and stepped past one of the centre counters, "Trouble is, its-"

My sentence came to a screeching halt as I tripped over a recumbent figure on the floor. It was a small figure, maybe no more than a meter and a half in height, and she was wearing a plain, chequered apron. Her wide, unblinking eyes were staring sightlessly towards the ceiling, and her expression was a strange, chilling mixture of surprise and fear.

"Tee..." I said, and took a deep breath, "Tee, I just found Doris."

"Oh, don't tell me they knocked her out," Terra sighed, and walked quickly across the room to join me.

"No...no they didn't," I said distantly, and reached out to finger the crossbow bolt buried in her forehead, "She's dead, Tee. Probably died instantly."

There was a long, terrible silence, broken only by the subtle rustle of fabric as I reached out and closed her eyes as gently as I could.

"I can't believe this," Terra said numbly, "Why Doris? She's harmless!"

"You clearly never tried her cooking," I said, and winced, "My gods, I’m sorry! I can’t believe I just said that."

"But...why did they have to kill her?" Terra continued, thankfully ignoring my comment, "Why didn't they just knock her out like Atkins? It doesn't make sense!"

"Is  _ anything _ making sense tonight, Tee?" I said, and gently placed the cook's hands on her chest, "For example, if Doris is...well, dead, then where's that smell coming from? Who actually got knocked out?"

Sniffing the air cautiously, I clambered to my feet and looked around the darkened kitchen. Although my mind was still churning following the discovery of Doris’ corpse, I was fairly certain that the smell of lilacs had been weaker when we entered the room. That meant, according to my somewhat fuzzy reasoning, the source of the smell should be somewhere over towards the back of the kitchen...

"We can't worry about that now," Terra said suddenly, "They’ll be coming down here any second."

"Mmm..." I sniffed the air once more, and decided that whoever was out cold was quite simply luckier than poor Doris, "Yeah, okay.”

Terra and I scrambled to our feet and crept over towards the fire exit located in the dark corner of the kitchen. A quick look through the dark, mucky window confirmed that the coast was clear, and I was just about to attempt to open the rusty door when I caught my sister's expression.

"Tee?" I frowned, "What's wrong?"

"Um...Firma?" she whispered, and pointed over my shoulder, "I think I've found your second victim."

With a feeling of dread settling comfortably in the pit of my stomach, I turned around and saw someone laid out on the floor. While they were certainly a victim of  _ something _ , though, they were definitely not a cook. He was a man, maybe an inch or two taller than me, and dressed in a combination of greens and dark greys that made his outline hard to see against the dark flooring. Across his chest lay six knives with blackened blades, and he wore a utility belt on which were a number of small, darkened boxes. While all those things were  _ odd _ , certainly, they weren’t the strangest thing about him. 

“Reckon its Imperial Intelligence?” she asked, quietly, and I shook my head.

“No way. Imperial Intelligence doesn’t go around wearing masks like...like  _ that! _ ”

The mask in question was a rather elaborate, unsettling affair. It was made from some bright, shiny metal; possibly highly polished steel or silver, and had been carefully beaten out to form the distorted face of a man in the midst of hysterical laughter. All the proportions were wrong, somehow  _ twisted _ , from the long, pointed chin right up to the heavy set brow. My blood went cold.

"That's...odd," Terra said quietly, "You've seen these clothes before, Firma. Aren’t they meant to make you hard to see?"

"Yeah," I replied, and knelt down by his side to take his pulse, "It does make you wonder why he'd go and spoil the effect by wearing a reflective Punch and Judy mask..." I looked at it again, and shuddered, "Anyway, I guess that explains the expression on Doris's face. If that thing came out of the dark at me, I'd wet myself."

"You think he's the murderer?" Terra said, and I immediately caught the dangerous tone in her voice, "And he's still alive?"

"Pretty sure he’s Doris’ killer, yeah," I said, and held up a small pistol bow for her examination, "And yeah, he’s still alive. Whoever’s doing this needs a bloody medal; I mean, you’d either have to be brave or totally mad to risk pissing off Kefka like this.”

“Or both,” Terra remarked, and gave the unconscious assassin a long, cold look, "Hey, Firma, what's that in his hand? That white slip?"

"That? Hmm," I frowned, and leaned across his body to retrieve what turned out to be a small rolled up slip of paper, "Not sure – it's got some writing on it, but-"

My comment was cut off by a nearby  _ ‘bang’ _ , followed by the heavy tread of soldiers storming into the mess hall. Through the small, grimy window on the galley door, I thought I could pick out the distinctive cone-shaped white beams of flashlights sweeping through the dusty air.

"The door, quickly!" Terra said, and made a leap for the fire door, "Firma, we've got to go!"

I didn't need telling twice, and in a flash I was back on my feet and over by the badly rusted fire door. With a quick push from my sister the door swung back silently on surprisingly well-oiled hinges revealing the dark, dirty alleyway between our compound and the next, and with one quick look back we bundled out and closed the door quickly behind us.

"You know what? I’m saying nothing,” I said, “Nothing at all about how odd it is that those rusty hinges are suddenly oiled tonight. I’m sure it's totally normal. This is  _ fine _ .”

"I’m sure it is," there was a sudden flare of light in the darkness as Terra called a sharp blue flame into existence, "One moment. I'm going to weld this latch shut so they won't follow us."

"Don't you think that'll be a touch obvious?" I raised my eyebrows, "Anyway, shouldn't we be making tracks instead of indulging in a spot of metalwork?"

"Just be quiet, Firma," Terra retorted, "With this door in the state it's in, do you really think that whoever's in there’s going to believe I welded it shut?"

"They will if they see you do it, and that's getting more likely by the second," I said tensely, "C'mon!"

"One second...there!" Terra extinguished the flame with a flick of her wrist and turned back towards me, "Right, where to now?"

"Same place as ever; the bloody Wriqurix," I sighed, "The only trouble is that it's all the way over there-" I gestured across the fields to the hangars, "-but in order to get there we've got to cross that road."

"Kefka's on that road," Terra said, and smiled weakly, "I really don't want to run into him."

"Yeah, I know," I didn't need my sister’s magical senses to be able to hear the engine of an eighteen-person troop carrier sitting smack-bang in front of our dormitory, "And no, I know... but I think that they'll probably broaden the search when they realise we've gone. Maybe they'll move out of the way."

“‘Probably’? ‘Maybe’?”

"Well, since you've obviously got a better plan filled with dead certainties, we'd better hear it!" my temper, already frayed by being chased around by the flash-light wielding mystery men brigade, gave a nasty twang, "Otherwise, I'm going to find out what's going on."

Without waiting for a reply, I brushed past my sister and stalked off down the gloomy alleyway towards the sound of the powerful engine and the troop carrier it ferried around. When I came to the end of the backstreet, I flattened myself against the wall and strained my ears to hear anything above the noise of the engine.

"Anything happening?" Terra whispered, slipping into place next to me. In reply, I gave her an irritated look and pressed a finger to my lips. At first, it was almost impossible to hear anything at all over the dull, bass thudding of the troop carrier's pistons, but as my ears adjusted to the noise I began to make out a couple of nearby voices talking between themselves.

"-sir," one of them was saying in a voice that was both apologetic and utterly, utterly terrified, "There's no sign of them. We checked their bedroom, but the door was unlocked and there were some signs of a flight. I believe they got wind of us and fled before we could capture them."

"Or perhaps they were never there..." Kefka's cold, sibilant voice sent uncontrollable shivers down my spine, "I assume you checked the logbook."

"No, sir, your ward did that, and she reports that they definitely checked in."

"That means that they are still in the area," Kefka declared, "One thing you will learn, subcommander, is that we can always count on MK1 being anal enough to sign the book if she left through the front door."

"Anal?" Terra sounded hurt, " _ Me _ ?"

I shot her a wry look in the darkness, and returned to listening to Kefka and his chum.

"-but there's no other way they could have left, my Lord," the subcommander was protesting, "Aside from the front door, there's only a few fire exits out of the building. Your ward checked them personally, and reported that none of them had been breached..."

"You seem hesitant, subcommander," Kefka said coolly, "What else did MK6 report?"

"Well..." the poor man took a deep breath, "We lost radio contact with your ward's partner, sir. When she went to investigate, she discovered that the operative had been knocked out cold, sir. By the cook, sir."

"By the cook?" Kefka's voice sounded amused, "An expert killer was disposed of by an elderly woman armed with a frying pan?"

"That's the way it seems, sir," the sub commander said nervously, "MK6 reports that she successfully eliminated the cook before the alarm could be raised and found no one else in the vicinity."

"Hmm..." Kefka paused for a moment, "Very well. Given the circumstances I believe that our prey has found some other egress and is most likely attempting to locate a means of escape. Recall your men; we shall have to reconsider our approach."

"Very good, sir."

"That's  _ not _ how it happened!" I hissed sharply, "There's no way Doris could've taken out that bloke! He was poisoned, not concussed!"

"True," Terra nodded slowly beside me, "But that would mean that this 'MK6' was lying. Why?"

“Beats me,” I shrugged, “But I’d guess we’ve just found our benefactor. Not only is she clearing a path for us, but she’s actually  _ lying  _ to sodding Kefka. She must  _ really _ like us.”

“Yeah, right,” my sister snorted, “She’ll have an agenda, just like everyone else.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” I said, and sighed irritably, “I  _ wish _ these guys would get a bloody move on. It’s not like there’s much more for them to search!”

Right on cue, there was a loud 'bang' as a metal door was slammed to out of sight, and a moment later the powerful-sounding engine roared to life.

"Get down," I muttered, kneeling down myself to make my profile as small as possible, "'No telling who might be looking around."

The ground beneath my fingers began to tremble as the large troop carrier came rumbling down the street towards us. We watched tensely as the long, hulking vehicle rolled past on its huge balloon tyres, and I prayed silently to Callista that nobody would see us. Thankfully, there was no sudden shout or a cry of alarm, and with a sigh of relief I watched the brake lights vanish into the night. 

"Thank the Goddess," I muttered, and helped Terra to her feet, "We'd better go before they decide to come back."

"Definitely," Terra agreed fervently, "You know where we go from here?"

"Um, yes. You can even see it from here," I pointed out the dim lights of the hangar, glimmering far away across the fields, "I just hope Anceleti's managed to fit that power pack, 'cause we'll have to take off immediately."

* * *

The hangar was almost exactly as we left it, although the Wriqurix was no longer standing on the airstrip. In the snow there were a trio of tyre tracks, leading directly into the hangar.

“Looks like Anceleti was as good as his word,” Terra said, “Let’s get ourselves gone.”

"Wait, Tee," I clamped a warning hand down on her shoulder, "If Kefka knew that we were going to skedaddle, I'll bet you that he's got a fairly good idea about how we're planning to escape. He's nutty as a fruitcake, but he's not stupid."

"I know," Terra's lips pressed together in a fine line, "This is still our best chance though, isn't it? Even if we were lucky enough to find a jeep or something ready to go, it wouldn't be hard for them to track us down."

"Yeah," I took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, "Well, we'd better go and find out what's actually happening."

Moving cautiously, I slipped around the edge of the hangar door. Although the large room was so brightly lit that hiding in the shadows was a laughable idea, I did my best to skulk along the side of the corrugated wall as I checked the area for any signs of suspicious activity. After a moment, however, I was forced to conclude that if there  _ was _ anyone lurking with intent in here they were well hidden, especially considering the lack of anything dark to actually lurk  _ in. _

The Wriqurix itself sat proudly in the middle of the hangar, surrounded on three sides by the squadron's sky-jets. It's brilliant, silvery coat glimmered brightly in the floodlights, and was almost blinding where the light struck the sharp corners around the wings and cockpit. Despite the extensive damage to the undercarriage, a quick, cursory inspection from afar revealed nothing that would indicate that someone had messed about with the plane.

"All clear?" Terra's voice came from a point about six inches behind me, and it took a supreme effort not to leap completely out of my skin, "Looks it to me."

"I'm glad it's got your stamp of approval," I muttered, "You're right, but I can't see anyone...and I mean  _ anyone. _ Anceleti's not here either."

"Probably replaced the power pack and left," Terra said, in a tone that suggested that she was trying to reassure herself, "Did you really  _ expect _ him to be here?”

“I suppose not. If we get caught, though, he’s going down,” I replied, "I'm sure Imperial Intelligence would just  _ love  _ to hear his explanation as to why a cutting-edge Magitek plane was left fuelled and ready to go the very night we decided to make a break for it."

"They'll be asking that question anyway," Terra sighed, "What's going to happen to him?"

"I'd rather not think about that right now," I said shortly, "Anyway..."

I walked across the hangar floor towards the Wriqurix, joined a moment later by my sister. Nobody challenged us as we passed under the drooping blades of an idle sky-jet and approached the sleek shape of the spotter plane.

"Hmm, maybe we've gotten lucky after all," I muttered, feeling a little bit of the tension dissipate in my stomach, "Okay. Tee, could you move those chocks away? I'll just go get the start-up sequence under way."

As Terra went to remove the chocks from under the wheels of the Wriqurix, I quickly clambered up to the cockpit and hopped inside. Once settled in the comfortable pilot's chair, I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep, calming breaths before getting to work on bringing the Wriqurix's powerful engines on-line. Only another five minutes, and then we should be on our way...

Suddenly, I was plunged into darkness as the hangar lights went out, leaving only the glow from Wriqurix's control board. For a moment I stared at the blinking display before common sense took over and sent me scrambling out of the cockpit.

"You didn't touch anything else, did you?" I asked Terra, as I scrambled down the ladder to the hangar floor. It seemed a pretty damn unlikely reason for everything suddenly going dark, but it was infinitely preferable to what I  _ suspected _ was going on.

"Apart from these wooden blocks? No," my sister hissed, and held one up as an example, "You think it's time to go?"

"Yeah, that sounds like an exceptionally good idea. 

Let me make some light."

“No, Terra, wait-”

With a ‘ _ whump’  _ and a wave of heat two crackling, incandescent suns burst into existence in Terra’s palms. Their brilliant light drove away the shadows, throwing everything into sharp relief, and glowed spectacularly of the shining, distorted masks of the black-clad men who were advancing on us.

“What the f-” I started, but Terra didn’t even hesitate. With a flick of her wrist she hurled a fireball at the closest man. It screamed across the hangar, trailing smoke and fire, and slammed into his chest with a thunderous detonation. Before he even hit the floor the second fireball cannoned headlong into its target and smashed him through the flimsy hangar wall, wreathed in flame. Suddenly, the hangar came alive with screams and shouted orders.

“Get down!” shouted Terra, and with a roar two more fireballs came to life. She hurled them high into the air where they exploded spectacularly, raining flame down on the advancing men. A rifle  _ cracked _ somewhere nearby, and there was a screech of tortured metal as the round punched through my barriers and traced a line of blue-gold sparks over my shoulder.

“That’s a high calibre rifle, Tee!” I shouted, and looked for its owner, “Our shields-!”

“I know!” she shouted, and ducked back as a crossbow bolt ricocheted off the Wriqurix front leg, “You find the gun; I’ll keep these guys at bay!”

There was another  _ crack _ , and I spotted the muzzle flash halfway up the stairs to Anceleti’s office. This time the bullet hit my shields and exploded into a spray of red-hot shards, and I cried out as they bit hard into my face and shoulder.

“Firma!” Terra’s voice was filled with alarm, “Are you okay?”

“I’m...I’m okay!” I said, after a quick check, “I found him! On the stairs, near Anceleti’s office!”

I reached out with my mind and got a firm grip on the gun. As he brought it back up to a firing position I whipped it from his grip and smashed the stock against his chin, hard. He wavered unsteadily before a second blow sent him tumbling to the floor.

“Got him!” I said, and winced slightly in sympathy, “That, um, that probably hurt.”

“Bloody hope so,” Terra rolled her eyes, “We’ve got a squad coming in from the left! Stop ‘em!”

“...okay!” I said, and spotted the group of men skulking behind a nearby helicopter. Drawing a little deeper on my magical abilities, I focused my energies into my hands and then brought them together hard overhead. There was a flash of light and then an almighty  _ crash  _ of thunder, which blasted outwards in all directions as nigh-unstoppable force. As it barreled past the helicopters rocked unsteadily on their wheels, and any soldier in the open was picked up and flung hard against the ground or the walls. In its wake, there was a deafening silence, punctuated only by the groans of the injured and the occasional ‘twang’ of a misfiring crossbow. 

Terra stared at the devastation and blinked, once.

“You’ve been practicing, I see,” she said, and clapped me on the shoulder, “Right; you’d better get up into the Wriqurix. I’ll cut off their reinforcements and then we’ll smoke ‘em!”

“Right!” I said. As I scrambled for the ladder she leapt from cover and charged towards the hangar door. As she ran her barriers flared to life under a sudden barrage of bolts and bullets, and she almost vanished under the reddish golden glow. With my heart in my mouth, I watched as she brought her arms up across her chest, and then with a yell of exertion threw them out wide in a dramatic gesture.

The results were impressive; a sheet of flame sprang to life, bisecting the hangar and reaching almost to the roof. The sheet metal shrieked and contorted in the heat, and the supporting beams above shivered and groaned ominously. Below, I saw Terra drop to her knees, and there was a clatter of bolts and metal as her shields cracked and shattered around her.

“Tee!” I shouted, and leapt back down the ladder, “Sodding hell, isn’t this a  _ bit _ much?”

“We needed...needed a diversion,” she said through gritted teeth as I helped her to her feet. She sagged thankfully against me, “Now we can take off!”

“Assuming the hangar doesn’t cave in first!” I said, and jumped as something high up sheared off noisily, “Goddess! As soon as we get in the Wriqurix you’re turning this thing off!”

“If I last that long,” she took a long, pained breath, “I know that I’m making this look easy, but-”

Terra stopped suddenly, and looked over her shoulder with a horrified expression. I followed her gaze, but couldn’t see anything beyond the swirling, twisting flames of her inferno.

“Firma,” she whispered, “It’s Kefka. He’s here.”

A dark, ghostly laugh echoed across the hangar. Although it was quiet, it somehow echoed over the crackling flames and came from every direction at once. A moment later it was joined by a slow, malevolent clap that came closer and closer to the flames. With only the faintest of hisses, the fiery curtain parted clearly down the middle, revealing two figures whose features flickered in the light. I immediately recognised the tall one as Kefka. There was absolutely no mistaking the strangely willowy figure of the insane General, especially not when he was dressed up in a long, flowing, and intricately embroidered green robe. His skin was deathly white, and a blood-red tattoo flowed around his dark, vicious eyes and across his eyebrows. All around him was a dark, unpleasant presence, and we instinctively drew together as he slowly advanced on us.

The shorter figure was unknown to me, but no less curious. Dressed from head to toe in flexible, matte-black armour, the general shape suggested that there was a woman somewhere under all that curiously insectile plate. Although she wasn't obviously armed, she was wearing a belt across her waist that held several pouches, which I assumed carried everything she needed for her work. As she approached, I caught a faint, but very distinct whiff of the knockout drug from earlier.

“That must be her,” Terra murmured, “MK6!”

“Yeah,” I said, and added “Turn off your flames, Tee. C’mon, before you collapse.”

“...yeah,” she nodded, and the flames vanished into a column of red and gold sparks that drifted slowly to the floor. The hangar was plunged once again into darkness, lit only by a few dying flames that clung to life on the floor and helicopters.

"Well, it appears I must congratulate you on your spirit," Kefka said, almost amiably, “I certainly didn’t expect to have to intervene  _ personally  _ in your capture. What an unexpectedly  _ fun _ evening this has turned out to be!”

“I’m glad we were so entertaining,” Terra growled.

“Don’t be a sore loser, MK1! You’ve performed simply  _ marvellously! _ ” the general said, and gestured grandly at the sagging roof, “I had  _ no _ idea your talent for destruction had come so far!”

“Come a little closer and I’ll show you  _ just _ how far they’ve come,” she said coldly, “I’ll blow your bloody head off.”

“Hmm,” Kefka’s lips curled in displeasure, “It seems like your threats need some work. How about-”

Without warning Kefka drove his fist into my solar plexus. There was a sick, fleshy noise and I was dropped to the concrete like a sack of potatoes. Gasping for breath, I struggled onto all fours just as he delivered a solid kick to my ribs. Pain exploded in my side, and I tumbled over and over across the rough concrete floor before finally coming to rest beside the Wriqurix.

“Stop that!” Terra screamed, “If you touch my brother again, I  _ swear  _ I’ll-”

“Oh, that’s  _ much _ better!” the general sneered, and then he suddenly lunged at Terra. Her scream ended as a strangled choke as his hand wrapped around her throat in an iron like grip. He slowly and sadistically tightened his grip, and his mouth split open into a terrifying predatory smile as my sister continued to gasp and struggle fruitlessly.

“I’ll tell you what you’ll do, MK1,” he said, in a voice that was almost a whisper, “If you want that oh-so-precious brother of yours to live out the night, you will do absolutely  _ nothing _ . Do I make myself clear?”

Terra’s gaze met Kefka’s, and the entire hangar seemed to hold its breath. Then her shoulders slumped in defeat and she nodded slowly.

“Excellent,” he said, and with no apparent effort threw her across the hangar to where I was still lying, clutching at my aching side. She landed roughly next to me and lay still for a moment, coughing furiously as she massaged life back into her injured neck.

“Firma!” she whispered hoarsely, “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” I whispered back, “Can we stop antagonising him now? I’m running out of ribs and you only have one windpipe.”

“We’ve lost, haven’t we,” she said sadly. 

“Spectacularly.”

Moving slowly, she manoeuvred herself into a sitting position and then helped me up. I gratefully rested my back on the front wheel of the Wriqurix, and felt gently at my ribs with both my fingers and my mind. Nothing was broken or bruised, thankfully, but the pain was pretty impressive all by itself. While my healing magic would’ve seen to it in an instant, I was pretty sure that the General and his minions were in no mood to tolerate any further demonstrations of magical ability.

“What do we do now?” Terra asked tensely. 

“I think we do what you said we should do,” I said, “We have to survive. Maybe an opportunity’ll present itself, but right now? We so much as  _ blink  _ funny and we’re toast.”

“Yeah,” she said.

Kefka’s tones rang out across the hangar, “Have my dear Mage Knights decided to give in? I certainly  _ hope _ not. You’re so much more fun when you choose to play.”

“What’re you going to do with us, Kefka?” my sister said, in a carefully neutral tone.

“Oh...I wouldn’t want to ruin the  _ surprise _ , my dear MK1,” he said, and laughed mockingly, “You’re going to  _ love  _ it. But for now, how about I share another little secret with you?”

Kefka laughed again as he turned to MK6, who handed him a large, heavy book that looked heart-sickeningly familiar.

"I daresay you recognise this, MK1. Would you care to identify it?"

The sudden look Terra gave Kefka could have cut diamond, but after a moment she spat out, “That's the signing in book.  _ Our _ signing in book.”

"Most perceptive," Kefka flicked it open, and with a single long finger turned to the most recent entries, "Now, MK1, if you would be so good as to study this last entry made by you and your dear brother here, you'll notice that you signed in, but sadly there appears to be no indication that you have signed  _ out _ . I do believe that when investigators recover this from the wreckage of your dormitories tomorrow morning there will be only one conclusion that they'll be able to draw, especially given your well-known tendency to do absolutely everything by the rules."

"Wreckage? It's not..." Terra paused for a moment before adding, "No! You... you evil, horrible-"

"I thought you would appreciate it," Kefka flashed her a quick smile, "Of course, we need to provide a couple of corpses to...to seal the deal, as it were, but I'm sure that your friend Private Alae and  _ your _ friend-" he looked over at me for a moment, "-Trainee Sentinel Tanis should be only too willing to donate for our worthy cause. Perhaps their fire-blackened skeletons will provide final, concrete proof that the Empire's prized Mage Knights perished in a brutal pre-emptive strike from agents supporting the Kingdom of Figaro."

“Leave them alone. Please!” I pleaded, “You know they haven’t done anything.”

“Of course I know they haven’t done anything, MK2,” Kefka gave me a disgusted look, “Except, of course, that they’ve associated with two traitors. Thanks to your actions, everyone you know is now under suspicion, and I intend to be most... _ thorough _ in my investigations.”

“Please-”

“Oh be quiet, MK2!” he said, and leaned in close, “You  _ made _ your choice. As it is, I shouldn't allow their fates to overly concern you. After all, in-" there was a short pause, "-three hours and twenty seven minutes your bedroom will be ripped apart by a series of immensely powerful charges, and the whole world will believe you were killed instantly."

"And...what about us?" Terra said. It sounded very much like she was trying not to be sick.

"Ah," Kefka knelt down in front of me, and the expression on his face chilled me to the core, "That’s where the  _ real _ fun begins. Shall we get started?"

From a small pocket, the General produced what appeared to be a strange, purple tetrahedron suspended on a filigree golden chain. There was something strange about it, something indescribably  _ wrong _ . I knew I had to stop looking at it, but for some reason I just couldn’t tear my gaze away.

"I would watch carefully, my dear MK6," Kefka said calmly, and began to swing the crystal in front of us like a pendulum, "Mage Knights are a problem unless you know how to handle them. Of course, if you  _ do _ know, they are hardly worth the bother..."

His voice drained away as my entire universe became the glittering interior of the purple device, and I could feel my worries and concerns fall away, replaced by the calm, constant sound of my own heartbeat. For a moment time seemed to slow down...

The crystal cracked, and then shattered violently, spraying splinters across the hangar. As it exploded, I felt it tearing a hole through my mind and I collapsed to the floor like a doll, limp and unresponsive. As my vision wavered and began to fade, I caught Kefka’s intent expression as he looked over us. Just behind him was the impassive, covered face of MK6. Despite the fact that I couldn’t see beyond her mask, the last conscious thought I had was that she seemed strangely sad...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be indebted to VallasRevas, my beta reader - who is winnowing through these chapters at a small rate of knots!


	6. Letters from Nobody

So in conclusion, I think we can all agree that Team Branford’s escape from IAF Wareydon was not an _unqualified_ success. Clearly, if one’s objective is to ‘escape to live in idyllic Figaran lagoon’ but one _actually_ ends up ‘being captured by crazy clown general’ then there are lessons to be learned. I’m not sure exactly what these lessons would entail, but they probably revolve around ‘not pitting a pair of naive eighteen year olds against an amoral man who’s as mad as a box of frogs’. Despite everyone’s best intentions, it’s pretty clear that our escape attempt was doomed from the start.

Of course, one of the reasons our escape attempt was doomed was because Kefka basically shrugged his way through a sheet of flame hot enough to soften steel. Aside from being _massively_ unsporting, it’s also not the kind of thing you expect from a general, no matter how much slap they’ve trowelled on their face. So...what’s going on here, then?

Well, this is where we come to the ‘Magitek Knights’. Unlike Mage Knights, these are perfectly ordinary people who have been magically enhanced through a (classified) process that could be generously called ‘haphazard’. Even if we leave aside the test subjects who died of radiation poisoning, horrible burns, or the guy who actually exploded, the actual finished process only _really_ worked on Celes (who was a baby at the time) and Kefka. That’s a pretty poor success rate by any metric, especially if you have to occasionally wash people off the ceiling, and so the project was eventually abandoned in favour of Magitek-enhanced weapons systems.

It should be noted that Mage Knights and Magitek Knights are very different beasts. For Magitek Knights magic is an adjunct, rather than an integral part of them. While this means that they don’t need it to survive, it also means that they aren’t sensitive to the presence of magical entities. There are some other bells and whistles they don’t have either, but we’ll come onto those in due course. Personally, I think the fact that they’re allowed to have a normal hair colour kind of balances that out.

I hope that helped. You’ll note that I haven’t talked about MK6 here, but that’s because MK6 is a special case and we’ll deal with her separately. That will probably be about the same time I get around to defining the word ‘thaumic’.

Anyway, let’s get crackin’!

* * *

When I finally came to, it was with a long, luxurious yawn and a slow cat-like stretch. After a moment, it occured to me that my sister had apparently decided to forego driving a boot into my kidneys. This was strange, but on the other hand good karma came to _everyone_ eventually. In celebration of this event, I decided to have another quick stretch before finally opening my eyes.

As far as mood killers went, the discovery that I had woken up in an entirely unfamiliar room was pretty powerful. Instead of an uninteresting dark blue, the ceiling here was white and made of some shiny, smooth, unidentifiable material. It was also completely featureless, aside from the four luminescent strip lights set into recesses around the edge. 

“Oh hell!” I said, suddenly wide awake. 

I sat up and looked around wildly. The rest of the room was done up in a similar style; the white material covered the walls, floors, and had even been molded into the pallet I was lying on. In fact, the whole room seemed to be formed from a single sheet with no breaks or sharp corners. Even worse, whoever had designed the room hadn’t even troubled themselves by including a door. Every wall was exactly alike; white, sheer, and totally featureless. As I swung my feet over the side of the pallet, I discovered that I was no longer dressed in my Sentinel uniform. At some point during my slumber, someone had pinched them and dressed me in what seemed to be green surgical scrubs. While I had no idea what might drive someone to pull a trick like that, given the context I was sure that it wasn’t for my benefit.

A sudden snort drew my attention to the other pallet, where my sister was snoring away peacefully on her side. Like me, she was dressed in green scrubs and her hair was an untied mess of curls, but aside from that she seemed to be entirely fine. I jumped back as another hacking, juicy snort forced its way up her throat, and then she mumbled, “Damnit, Firma! I told you we needed the hyacinths _and_ the nasturtiums! The vicar is _not_ going to be happy!”

I chuckled, despite the gravity of our situation, and gave her an affectionate smile as I leaned over and shook her gently by the shoulder.

"Hey, Tee," I said quietly, "You need to get up! We’re in trouble here.”

“Wha?” she responded sleepily, “But the cupcakes-”

“Tee!”

“Hmm?” Terra opened her eyes and gave me a bleary stare, “Huh? Firma? What’s going on?”

"I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure it’s not good," I said urgently, and helped her up to a sitting position, "Can you remember anything about what happened last night?"

“A little...there was a crystal, I think…? Ah-” she closed her eyes and put her fingers to her temples, “Gods, that _hurts_!”

“Tee? What’s wrong?”

“My head feels like the morning after the night before,” she said, through gritted teeth, “And it’s not even like the night before was any fun.”

“Do you want me to do something about it?” I asked.

“Could you?” she said, “It feels like I’m being walloped with a steam hammer.”

Steeling myself, I placed my hand on her forehead and felt the pain wrap itself around my temples. It was raw and red, its long nails clawing, scrabbling, and digging at my skull, and despite my best efforts a curse still forced its way to the surface.

“Sorry,” Terra gave me a wan smile, “Steam hammer, right?”

“Right,” I said, as I turned my magic loose. In my mind I felt a soft, cooling breeze blow gently over the headache, and it began to break up into streams of blue and gold. After a moment, it was gone completely, “See? All better.”

“Now you’re just making me jealous,” she said, “So where are we?”

“I don’t know.”

“And who took my damn clothes? That was my favourite scrunchie!”

“I don’t know!” 

“Okay, fine. You know what? None of that matters right now,” she said, and brushed some of her uncooperative hair out of her face, “We need a new plan!”

“A new plan?” I said, “Tee, we don’t even have a _door_.”

“Don’t be stupid, Firma. _Every_ room has a-” she stopped, and looked around, “Huh.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, there has to _be_ one,” she said stubbornly, “They put us in here, didn’t they?”

“Obviously,” I said, “But how do we get out?”

Terra gave the walls a suspicious look, “One of these has to be a fake. If we can work out which one, I can blow it open, and…then we deal with whatever’s on the other side.”

“You mean like heavily armed soldiers?” I suggested, “You _do_ realise that we’re probably being guarded by the best the Empire has to offer, right?”

“Of _course_ we’re being guarded by the best the Empire has to offer,” Terra rolled her eyes, “We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Pretty big bridge,” I said, and sighed. My sister gave me a concerned look.

“It’s okay, Firma. It’s all going to be okay,” she said calmly, “We’re going to get out of this, I promise. I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

“Yeah.”

“So you can just relax, eh?” she said, “Y’know, before you do yourself an injury.”

"Yeah, it would be a bit of a bugger if I hurt myself before they got the chance, wouldn't it."

“They aren’t going to _get_ that chance,” she said, and got to her feet, "Look, just give me twenty seconds to find the door and we'll be able to punch our way-"

We both jumped as a loud _‘clunk’_ reverberated throughout the cell, and quite suddenly the wall right next to me dropped into the floor. Beyond, I could see a long, featureless, well-lit corridor built from the same white material as our cell. Of more immediate interest, however, were the mad General and his aide standing patiently on the other side of the ‘door’. My heart pounded in my ears as Kefka looked at us each in turn, and then a contemptuous sneer formed on his lips.

"I do hope you both had a pleasant nap," Kefka stepped into the cell, and watched with amusement as we scrambled quickly for the far end, “It does _so_ help with the punching.” 

“Stay back! Just _stay back!_ ” Terra said, in a wavering voice.

“Or _what_ ?” said Kefka, “ _What_ are you going to do, MK1?”

There was a long, tense pause.

“I mean, that’s an excellent question,” I said, desperate to break the horrible silence.

“Indeed, MK2,” said Kefka. He made a show of buffing his fingernails on his jacket, and then gave me a bright smile, “I believe that this may be the first time we’ve ever agreed on anything. It’s almost a pity, really.”

Terra and I exchanged a quick look.

“Um, why?” I said.

“Oh, for no particular reason,” he said, and then he suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders and slammed me hard against the back wall. Before I really knew what was happening, his hands were around my throat and squeezing hard, "It’s just a bit sad that I have to kill you, just when I was beginning to _like you_.”

I gasped and choked as I struggled vainly against his grip. His mad eyes bored into mine, and as he leaned in hard an almost beatific smile graced his lips.

"Stop that!" Terra shouted suddenly, and lunged at Kefka, "Let him go!"

There was a black blur of motion, and quite suddenly MK6 was standing between Kefka and Terra's outstretched arms. The bodyguard moved in a way that I couldn’t quite track, and with a harsh _‘crack’_ my sister was suddenly pinned against the wall in a painful arm lock.

"Not very impressive," Kefka said, in a cold, clinical tone. For a moment his gaze rested on Terra's furious struggling, and a malignant edge crept into his expression, "Perhaps you need more motivation, MK1.”

Kefka shifted his grip slightly, and there was the ever-unpleasant sound of metal-on-metal from somewhere around his waist. Suddenly, he was holding a long, wickedly curved knife, which he placed almost tenderly across my throat. I went absolutely rigid and tried very hard not to swallow.

“No! Don’t you _dare!_ ” Terra cried, and with a rush of heat and light she was suddenly wreathed in flame. With an animalistic yell, she twisted free of the arm lock and spun to strike at her attacker with a fiery hook. MK6 swayed and flipped backwards gracefully onto the pallet as a column of incandescent light reduced the floor to a bubbling, smoking mess. 

“Excellent!” Kefka said approvingly, as MK6 flung herself out of the way of another blast, “ _There’s_ the wild, destructive MK1 we all know and love! Where _have_ you been keeping her all these years?”

“ _Enough!_ ” my sister shouted, and spun to advance on Kefka with murder in her eyes, “Let him go; _now-”_

The general gestured almost casually, and an unseen force picked Terra up and slammed her against a wall. There was a deafening _‘crack’_ and the white facade was reduced to a pile of crazed shards, revealing the concrete beyond. Her flames died, and my sister fell limply onto the pallet and lay there in an unmoving heap, groaning in pain.

“That’s much better,” Kefka said, looking across the destroyed cell, “But I have no need for an animal, MK1. If you wish for us to work together, then-”

“What… what makes you think that I’d _ever_ work with _you?_ ” Terra spat, as she hauled herself painfully to her knees, "I'd rather die than-"

"Yes, yes, we've heard that before," Kefka sneered, and his lips curled back into an evil smile, "A pity, especially considering how eager you were to save your brother's life…"

"What? You're really serious?" Terra faltered, and her gaze flickered to me for just one moment, "Wait! That's…not fair."

"You think I’m not serious? Whatever gave you _that_ idea, MK1?" Kefka giggled and gently increased the pressure on my throat, “Do you think it’s fair for _me_ to have such high hopes for you both, only to have them dashed _over_ and _over_ again? I offer you power, and you spit in my face! Worse, your brother forsook me for some long-dead Goddess! _Me!_ ”

“I-'' I began, but stopped cold as Kefka’s arm tensed warningly.

“You like being clever, MK2,” he said, in a low, dangerous tone, “Tell me, does that feel like the _clever_ choice now? Where _is_ your wonderful Callista?”

I stared into the general’s cold, mad eyes, and my response died on my lips.

“You’re _such_ a disappointment, MK2. I really thought that you might be of some value to me. Still,” he paused, “...if you can make your _dear_ sister listen for five minutes, then you might not be such a waste after all. MK1?”

“...yes?” Terra said, warily.

“I’m going to offer you one last chance. Either you do _exactly_ as I say, or…” I winced and clenched my hands as Kefka’s knife traced a thin line of pain across my throat, “I’ll slit your brother’s throat right now. Maybe I’ll slit it anyway; it’s always such _fun_ watching people bleed to death on the floor.”

“Wait! Please!” Terra staggered to her feet, her eyes as wide as saucers, “I don’t know what you want me to do!”

“Are you really in a position to be worried about little details like that? I suppose you don’t care for your brother as much as I thought,” Kefka sighed melodramatically, “That’s...unfortunate.”

"No! Don't hurt him!" Terra cried, "I-I'll do it! Just…please, let Firma go."

There was a hushed silence, and then a loud clatter rang out as the blade hit the floor. I released a breath that I wasn’t aware I had been holding and gave my sister a thankful look.

"MK6, you're in charge of watching MK2," he said, and threw me roughly onto a pallet, "If MK1 here decides to renege on our little agreement, then-" his teeth glimmered in the bright white light, "-you'll know what to do. As for you, MK1…" I missed Kefka's expression as he turned to face Terra, but from her own it seemed unpleasant, "We're going to go and have a little talk."

“Can I at least say goodbye to my brother first?” she said, and her voice began to quaver, “This may be the last chance I get. Please.”

Kefka gave her a long, hard look, and then smiled widely, “But of _course_ , MK1. I’ll just be waiting outside. MK6...?” 

MK6 straightened, and saluted.

“Keep watch.”

With that, the General turned and stalked out through the cell’s only exit. I watched him go in silence, terrified to say anything for fear that he’d change his mind. In his wake, MK6 took up a position by the door. Her arms were folded, but there was something about her stance that made it very clear that she was not to be messed with.

She didn’t matter, though. As soon as the General left, I leapt to my feet and rushed to my sister, catching her in a hug that almost knocked her back on her pallet. Nothing needed to be said, and for a long, unbroken moment we held each other tightly while the tears flowed freely. I never wanted to let go; this could easily be our final goodbye, and I would’ve paid any price just to spin our time together out that little bit longer.

Eventually Terra broke the hug and stepped back to arm's length. Though her eyes still glistened, she stared intently at me as if committing every last detail to memory. Rather belatedly, I realised I was doing the same.

“I’m sorry, Firma,” she said, and wiped her hand across her eyes, “I...I really thought that this would turn out differently.”

“This is _nuts_ , Tee!” I wept, “You can’t do this! Tell Kefka you can’t do this!”

“He’ll kill you if I don’t,” she smiled weakly, “I promised you I wouldn’t let them hurt you, remember?”

“I don’t care about a damn promise. I care about _you!_ ”

“Oh, Firma-” she pulled me into another tight hug, “I _told_ you that I can live with dying if it's for a worthy cause. What’s a more worthy cause than my own brother?”

“But you’ll be _dead!_ ” 

“Then you’ll have to live for both of us,” she said, “I want you to promise me that you’ll do that.”

“I….I….”

“Promise me! Promise me you’ll get out of here, find somewhere safe, and _live_!”

“I...I promise,” I said, finally able to force the words out.

“Good,” said Terra, “I...can’t tell you how much I’m going to miss you.”

“I know. I love you too, sis,” I said, “I know we’ve haven’t always been in each other’s corners, but-”

“It’s okay. It’s all okay,” she said, and as she stepped back she kissed me gently on the cheek, “Look; you go find a nice town, settle down, and maybe name one of your kids after me, got it?”

“Got it,” I said, and smiled as best I could.

With that, she took a deep breath and visibly composed herself. MK6, who had been impassively watching our goodbyes, inclined her head and stepped aside.

“Down the corridor, right?” Terra said, and the other woman nodded, “Okay. ‘Guess I’d better go and have this little ‘chat’ with Kefka.”

“Tee!” I called, one last time, “Please be safe.”

“Don’t screw this up, Firma,” she said, and gave me a brave smile, “Believe me; I’ll be watching.”

With her head held high and an air of unbreakable confidence about her, Terra strode off to an uncertain fate. The cell door slammed shut behind her, and a resonant clang rang through the cell like the toll of a bell.

* * *

For a long period of time I stood there staring blankly at the door. How the _hell_ had everything gone so horribly wrong in such a short space of time? Last night, it had seemed like there had been a glimmer of hope, but now Kefka had won outright. He’d captured both Terra and myself and likely made good on his threat to reduce our dormitory to a pile of rubble. By tomorrow, the Imperial Army would have written us off as two crispy critters, and that would be it. Slowly, I sank down onto a pallet and put my head in my hands. For the first time in my life, I felt truly alone. My twin’s absence was already making itself felt as an enormous, ice-cold hole in my chest, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to scream, cry, or throw up. Probably all three. 

Eventually, I felt a light tap on my head, and I looked up to see MK6 looking down at me. I couldn’t see the expression behind the mask, but I wasn’t getting a feeling of aggression or danger from her. It was more...curious, possibly even quizzical, but I couldn’t be sure. Despite the fact I was pretty sure she’d been helping us, at that point in time the only thing I cared about was her integral role in our kidnapping. Fear and anger turned to spite, and I was in no mood to be nice.

“May I help you?” I said icily, “Or is this the bit where you have a good gloat? Must be pretty satisfied with your work, right?”

She shook her head in a surprisingly emphatic manner, and sat down right next to me on the pallet. Apparently, she had no concept of personal space.

“Kefka’s taken my sister, thanks to you,” I continued, determined to twist the knife however I could, “Do you have any idea what that’s like? To have everything taken from you?”

MK6 stared at me for a long time. Once she was sure she had my full attention, she nodded, just the once.

“Well, if you’re looking for sympathy, maybe look an hour ago,” I said, “Right now, I don’t care.”

We sat there in silence for a while. MK6 seemed to take a particular interest in the backs of her gloves.

“So what _are_ you doing, then? Enquiring minds would like to know,” I continued, “After all, I’m _pretty_ certain that it’s you who’s been-”

There was a sudden explosion of pain across my throat, and I was suddenly pinned to the wall by a single armoured arm across the throat. For a single, dangerous moment MK6 and I stared at one another across a distance of about six inches, but then the black figure slowly released the pressure and sat back.

"Why-" I began, but stopped as she shook her head furiously. Once it was obvious she had my undivided attention, a single arm gestured about the room before returning to the side of her helmet.

" _The walls…have ears?"_ I considered it for a moment before understanding hit me, "Oh, right. Sorry."

MK6 shook her head wearily in response as she reached down into the cuff of her armour. I saw just a hint of dark skin, and then she withdrew a long slip of folded white paper and handed it over. With a quick, suspicious glance at MK6 I unfolded the sheet to find a long, typed note inside:

_Firmament_

_If you are reading this, it means that your attempt to escape the Empire has failed, and you are likely in the hands of General Kefka or one of his subordinates. If so, you will likely have a limited time to live; General Kefka has significant interest in your sister, but considers you to be a liability. Should you antagonise him, I suspect he will likely lose interest in you very quickly. Please do everything you can to stay alive._

_Although your current situation may feel helpless, not all is lost. I have anticipated Kefka’s plans in light of recent events, and arrangements have been made for your escape. If successful, you_ must _make your way to the coal-mining town of Narshe as quickly as possible. A situation has arisen there that has significant implications for you and your sister. I’m afraid that I cannot be more specific than that at this time; although my courier is reliable, Kefka is notoriously paranoid and I cannot risk revealing anything that can be traced back to me._

_On your release you may be tempted to try and help your sister. I must stress how vital it is that you do not, as I can guarantee that Kefka would kill you. If you truly wish to help her, go to Narshe and await further instructions._

_Finally, I will just stress again how vital it is that you succeed. In a short while you will be the only Mage Knight free to move around the world, and possibly the only person with the abilities to put a spoke in Kefka's plans. If you are fast enough, we may be able to bring an end to this disaster without anyone else being hurt._

_Good luck._

_P.S. Tanis and Alae received emergency transfers late last night to the winter war games. Consider it an advance for services rendered._

“Goddess!” I said, and gave MK6 a hard stare, “What the _hell_ is going on here?”

MK6 shrugged. At this stage, I wasn’t certain if she was actually mute or just really good at being silent. However, it was pretty clear from her body language that she had no intention of telling me anything about this letter or who wrote it. About the only clue I had was that it was both typed and not signed, which _could_ suggest that the writer believed I could identify them from either their handwriting or their name. On the other hand, they could just be a fast typist or have terrible handwriting, and only an utter fool would risk putting their name to something like _this_ if it could fall into Kefka’s hands. Also, I didn’t recognise the style...

A sudden motion from MK6 caught my eye, and I looked up to see her making a vigorous eating gesture with one hand. With a scowl I quietly folded the sheet of paper and popped it in my mouth, and sat back to think about what the letter had said. Right now, it seemed like there was someone up there who liked me, or at least thought that I would be useful until they found another stooge to do their dirty work. It was odd, though, that they were so intent I _not_ help my sister. If one of us going to Narshe was good, surely two would be much better, right? All I’d need to do is somehow sneak her out from under the gaze of Kefka...

"Oh, Tee…" I leaned forwards and put my head in my hands, "Bloody Kefka! Why'd he have to go and mess everything up for the sake of a bit more power? What the _hell_ did we ever do to deserve this?"

There was a long silence from the other pallet, and I saw MK6 shrug again out of the corner of my eye.

"Is that all you can do?" I asked spitefully, having found a focus for my anger, "You’re the world’s worst conversationalist!”

MK6 shrugged for a third time. This time, it was clearly intended to irritate me.

“How in the world can you... _work_ for that man, eh?” I said, “Is the pay good enough that you can just ignore him burning Maranda to the ground? What are the perks like? Are you going to _answer_ me?”

MK6 shook her head impassively, but then suddenly put two fingers to her left ear. She listened intently for a couple of seconds before getting up and walking purposefully over to the cell door.

"Hey, wait a second," I snapped, "Where the hell do you think you're-"

With a single irritated shake of the head, MK6 reached out and hauled me to my feet.

"Hey, wait a second," I faltered slightly, and an anxious tone crept into my voice, "Where the hell are _we_ -"

My sentence died in my throat as the cell door vanished into the floor, revealing a figure that I certainly hadn't expected and who I had half expected never to see again.

"C-Celes!" my jaw dropped, "What in the world…"

It was none other than the general herself. Despite my astonishment, I somehow still registered that she was totally out of sorts. She had clearly been crying; her swollen, red eyes and tear marks down her cheeks were testimony to _that_. While that in itself was shocking, there was something much, much worse about her. Her normally reserved, confident air had gone, and in its place was a dead, beaten Celes that I’d never seen before in my life.

“Firma!” she exclaimed, and her smile was like the sun coming up, “Oh _cheri_ . You’re _alive_!”

“Not for a lack of trying, believe me.”

“Is Terra here?” Celes asked intently, “Have you seen her?”

“I…she...Kefka...” I choked up, and my words failed me. Her smile vanished, and the colour drained from her face.

“Firma, I am so sorry,” she gently touched me on the shoulder, “This must all be very hard on you.”

“I’ve had better days, granted,” I said, and added carefully, “It looks like I’m not the only one. Are you okay?”

“I think this has been the worst day of my life by a very large margin,” she said, frankly, “Everything about it...well, anyway,” the General turned her attention to my armoured chaperone, "Thank you for watching him. That will be all."

MK6 gave a rather mocking little bow in response before leaving Celes and I to our own devices. Once she was out of sight down the corridor, I gave the general a curious look.

"Do you know her?" I enquired, “I mean, I’ve never seen anyone dressed like that in my life.”

"Me neither,” Celes said, “I was just told that there'd be someone here." 

"Told?" I gave her a suspicious look, "Let me guess; someone slipped you a letter."

"That's clearly not a guess.”

“Am I right?”

“Well...yes and no,” Celes pinched the bridge of her nose, “ _First_ I got a telephone call from grandfather saying that you and Terra had been killed in a Returner bombing. I came rushing back home to identify your corpses, but before I could do that I found a letter someone slipped into my room. It led me here.”

“They asked you to identify our corpses?”

“No,” she said, “I demanded to. I had to see that you two were dead for myself, even if it was just bits of you.”

“That was...brave.”

“It was the longest train journey of my life,” she said, “I had a lot of time to think about what I’d said to you guys, and what I’d... _wished_ I’d said.”

“Hence the ‘sweetheart’?” I asked, and she inclined her head silently in answer. I wasn’t going to press her any further on that. It was rare for Celes to express emotional vulnerability, and I knew from prior experience that anything that could be interpreted as prying or, worse, _mocking_ her would send her running right back behind her well-crafted walls.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” I said instead, “But isn’t this going to land you in a lot of trouble? I mean, forget your career; this could get you put in front of a firing squad!”

Celes looked at me for an uncomfortably long time, and I could see the muscles in her jaw working away. When she spoke, her voice was that of someone who was having a great deal of trouble keeping their temper under control, “Do you know how many people died when we attacked Maranda, Firma?”

I shook my head.

“Five thousand people,” she laughed mirthlessly, “Because of Kefka and his games I’m now responsible for the deaths of five _thousand_ people. Do you know how that feels?”

“Pretty terrible, I’d imagine,” I said, and she nodded.

“I’m not standing for it anymore,” she said, her voice shot through with iron, “I will _not_ accept people being murdered, kidnapped, or tortured on my watch. Kefka has to be stopped, Firma. We both know that, and…” she took a long, deep breath, “You’re our best chance.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Are you _sure_?” I said, “I mean, I’m not a general, or a warrior, or an assassin. I’m only an IAF Cadet and a trainee Sentinel.”

“But this isn’t the time to be an IAF Cadet or a trainee Sentinel,” she said, firmly, “This is time to be a Mage Knight, and there isn’t anyone in the world who knows more about that than you.”

“But if we rescue Terra-”

“That’s not an option right now, Firma,” she quickly held up her hand, “Listen to me; right now we need to move very quickly. I’ll promise you, I’ll explain everything that I can when we’re away, but right now I need you to do exactly what I say, when I say it, without question. Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” I said immediately, “One hundred percent.”

“Oh…” she looked a little surprised by my response, “Um, good.”

“Celes, I’ve known you my entire life, and you’ve never given me a reason to doubt you,” I pointed out, “Plus, you’re risking your career and maybe your _life_ coming to my rescue. Right now, if you told me the sky was green and the moon was a giant gobstopper, I’d believe you.”

“That’s a dangerous level of faith, Firma,” she said, but smiled nonetheless, “Thanks. Do you feel well enough to get going?”

“I feel like you look,” I said, and her smile became a scowl, “But I’ve finished wallowing, if that’s what you mean. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to help you help me help Terra.”

There was a pause while Celes parsed that sentence, and then she said, “Good. Let’s get out of here!”

* * *

I’m just going to steal the focus back for a mo’ while I clarify a few points. It’s not that I don’t think you’re all highly intelligent individuals (however statistically unlikely that might be), but bitter experience (and some spectacular injuries) have taught me that it’s dangerous to assume that everyone knows what’s going on. 

Firstly, I think that the above sums up Celes pretty well. Sure, she might not be the most emotionally available person you’ll ever meet, but there aren’t many people who I’d rather have in my corner. Sure, I’ve had to sit through more than my fair share of irritated sighs and comments like ‘You did _what?_ ’, but every time I’ve really needed her she’s moved heaven and earth to be there. This has been true even for those one or two (possibly three) occasions when I’ve only needed her help ‘cause I didn’t listen to her in the first place. Don’t tell her that, though. I already owe her enough drinks as it is.

Alcohol aside, the other question here is ‘why was Kefka so obsessed with Terra’? I mean, _I’m_ a Mage Knight too! If I’m so inclined (and sometimes when I’m in an _apocalyptically_ bad mood) I can make the weather _dance_ . In fact, the first thing I probably should’ve done upon being banged up was to carry an escape that could be measured in megatons and seen from space, right? Well, no; I learned early on that if you’re a Mage Knight losing control can have terrible consequences, and that had a lasting impact on how I chose to develop my magical abilities. Shielding? Sure. Healing? Most definitely - but hurting people? _Killing_ them, even? Only in self defence, and _only_ as a last resort. I know that blasting people into the middle of next week sounds awesome on paper, but it’s suddenly not so great when you’re confronted with the results. Without saying too much, those ‘results’ have kept a number of therapists in clover over the past nine years.

On the other hand, it’s that same reticence that probably saved my hide. Kefka, you see, wasn’t interested in shielding, healing, or any of that hippy dippy jazz. He wanted _power_ , and he clearly saw that in my sister. As far as she’s concerned, any attack made against her or her loved ones should be met with a response that precludes a second attempt. If it can preclude the _original_ attack, so much the better! Thanks to that, um, _pragmatic_ viewpoint, she saw no issue with honing herself into an all-powerful flaming natural disaster with a love of animals, terrible puns, and anything that goes ‘bang’.

So, if you were a devious supervillain with a number of convoluted plots to put in motion, which would you choose; the Moon Buster 6000 or a popgun? I defy you to say the latter.

* * *

As it turned out, escaping Kefka’s prison was hilariously easy. This was mostly because there was no wing to speak of or, indeed, any other cells. The little room that Terra and I had been dumped in was actually concealed inside a low-slung, concrete building sitting in a dark, freezing field in the middle of absolutely nowhere. For a few moments I stared disbelievingly at it before turning to Celes for confirmation.

"You're kidding me, right?" I said, and pinched myself, "The whole time I thought I was inside the depths of some godsforsaken complex surrounded by armies of the best the Empire could offer, and I was _really_ sitting inside this…this…" I squinted at the writing above the door, "'Chemical Storage Bunker 3A'?"

Celes nodded, "You have to give Kefka marks for innovation. It keeps you out of the way of prying eyes. After all, how many people do you know who stick their heads into bunkers filled with poisonous chemicals?"

"That's true, I suppose," I gave the signs on the door due inspection, "'Warning: Very Toxic Chemicals. Trained operators only. Full P.P.E. must be worn at all times.' What's PPE, anyway?"

"Beats me," Celes said impatiently, "Look, you were knocked out and put in here - can we accept this fact and move on? We need to get over to the Wriquirix as fast as possible, and it's cold out as it is."

"What? The Wriqurix? Why?" I frowned at her, "Is that even still an option?"

Celes nodded grimly, "Yes, it is, and you're going to fly us both to Tzen."

"Tzen?" my frown intensified, "What's in Tzen?”

“I thought you said you were going to trust me,” she said, “One hundred percent, if I recall.”

“Right. You’re right,” I said, “The Wriqurix, and then Tzen; got it.”

“Before that, though-” Celes dug into a pocket and produced a knitted yellow bean cap, “-here, put this on. I’ll bet that most people won’t give you a second glance if you cover up your hair. It’s not like you’ve got the most memorable face in the Imperial Army.”

“Thanks,” I said, and held it up for inspection, “Is this really _your_ hat? It’s bloody hideous!”

“Just put it on, Firma.”

“Sure,” I said, and crammed it quickly on my head, “It’s just that you’re always so well dressed! Where did _this_ thing spring from?”

“Grandfather got tired of buying me socks for Midwinters’,” Celes said simply, “Now just give me a second to get my bearings. Let’s see; I came straight from my quarters, which are over _there_ ...which means that the storage depot is over _there_ , and so-” she pointed, “-your hangar’s this way.”

Apparently satisfied with her decision, Celes walked off into the darkness without waiting for a response. I followed quickly, and winced as the ice-hardened grass bit hard into my bare feet. The general gave me a sympathetic look but said nothing, and we walked on in silence for a while.

“Um, Celes?” I said hopping from one foot to another in a vain attempt to keep them warm, “Um, Celes? About Ter-”

“She’s not an option, Firma,” Celes said harshly, “Listen to me; we absolutely _cannot_ run into her. The best case scenario is that she’ll bring Kefka right down on us.”

“And the worst?” 

“She’ll attack us,” she said, and quickly added, “I know how ridiculous that sounds, Firma, but-”

“-that’s a matchup we don’t want,” I said, and pressed my lips firmly together, “I mean, I’ll be fine, but she’ll fry you to a crisp.”

“I seem to remember you being singed on a couple of occasions, Firma,” she said tartly, “Did you _ever_ beat her in those magical duels of yours?”

“Do _near_ victories count?”

“You know they don’t.”

“Then no,” I said, “I mean, I got _close_ a couple of times, but you know Tee. She hits like a bloody lorry and doesn’t get tired. There’s only so long you can stay ahead of that.”

“I thought Grandfather was teaching you to have better control, though,” she said, “You know, finesse.”

“Yeah. The thing about finesse, the very _important_ thing about finesse, is that it doesn’t help when everything is _already on fire_ ,” I said, “And as far as Terra’s concerned, that’s Step One of her One Step Plan...what?”

Celes had held up her hand. "Be quiet, Firma. Did you hear that?"

"Hear wh-"

"If you shut up, maybe you'll hear it."

For a moment we stood in complete silence in the cold, dark field while I tried to work out exactly what it was that I was supposed to be listening out for. Then, in the far off distance, I heard a drawn-out, high-pitched wail that stopped far too quickly to be entirely comfortable.

"What the-" I gave a start, and glanced over at Celes, "Was that someone-"

"Screaming? I think so," she replied coolly, "And no, I don't think we should go and find out what's going on."

"But someone could be hurt!" I protested. Another distant scream broke the night's silence, confirming my fears.

"That someone could be us," Celes pointed out, "I'm not going to let you charge in there with some kind of hare-brained half-baked scheme. We've both got work to do that's too critical to spend time investigating whatever caused that noise."

“Yeah, but Celes...I think that’s coming from the hangars!” I squinted at the gleaming lights, still so very far away, “It can’t be more than five hundred meters from the Wriqurix.”

"Good," she replied calmly, "We can use the chaos to steal the plane – hey, Hey! Where are you going?"

"If it's who I think it is doing what I think they're doing, then we haven't got long before they put paid to our only means of finally getting out of here!" I said urgently, "Kefka's on the move."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to VallasRevas for kindly offering to beta their way through this nightmare!


	7. The Titan Marches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My ongoing thanks goes out to VallasRevas for their highly detailed comments, criticisms, and observations! It's a great help. :)

Alright, everyone. I _know_ that there’s excitement about to happen (which may or may not involve a Titan) but I’d like you to just take a moment to sit down and really admire the level of trust I put in Celes there. Taste it. _Savour_ it. Rub it on your face if you have to, but whatever else you do just recognise it for what it is. 100%, premier grade, purestrain ‘Trust’. Tasty, right? Good.

Before you ask, _yes_ , there _is_ a reason why I’m asking you to make out with an abstract concept. Admittedly, part of it is for my own personal entertainment, but it's also because it’s just occurred to me exactly _how_ much trust I placed in Celes way back then. I mean, if literally _anyone_ else had turned up and said ‘We’re going to Tzen. Also, your twin sister will try to cook us in our own juices.’ my response would’ve been ‘bollocks’. With Celes? An (admittedly mournful) shrug of acceptance. That says quite a lot, I think.

That being said, Celes wasn’t _entirely_ wrong to say that I had a ‘dangerous level of faith’ in her. We won’t be coming onto _that_ tidbit for quite a while, but according to her my absolute faith in her felt a bit like a knife twisting in her guts. I have to admit that I can’t be _entirely_ sympathetic about that; next time, _‘cheri’_ , you should think about sharing your secrets with the rest of the class.

I’m just going to leave that piece of juicy foreshadowing right there. For now, though, let’s go find out what’s cooking!

(The answer is people. Lots and lots of people.)

* * *

It had to have been at least two miles between Kefka’ holding cell and my squadron's hangar, and my bare feet felt every single meter of it as Celes and I raced across the ice-hardened fields. While I hoped that whatever was going on was some coincidental accident, in my gut I knew what was _really_ going on. Kefka was cleaning up any remaining loose ends by murdering anyone and everyone who might have helped us escape. 

Despite knowing that, and _despite_ the screams, the dark red halo in the sky, and the smell of burning oil and overdone beef, I was still caught completely off guard when Celes and I rounded the corner of a warehouse. Before us stretched a view of total carnage.

"Oh…oh Goddess," I said, and had to steady myself against the nearby wall, "It's all gone."

There was almost nothing recognisable about the remains of my hangar. What had once been an enormous, sheet metal affair was now little more than a smoke-filled, flaming wreck. The walls had been blown clean off, leaving only a blackened, twisted metal skeleton that groaned and shrieked as it sagged in the immense heat.

"Firma, stop!" Celes put out a hand to stop me as I staggered almost involuntarily towards the burning husk, "There's nothing you can do."

"But there could be someone still alive!"

"In _that_?" she said incredulously, "Look closely around us. What do you see?"

For a moment I stared dazedly at the General, and then turned my attention to the scorched earth surrounding the burning hanger.

"There," Celes pointed, "That lumpy, blackened thing just over there – no, _there_. What do you think that is?"

Again, I gave her a quizzical look as I tried to piece together what she thought that dark piece of shrapnel could possibly be. Then the flames shifted slightly, and it suddenly occurred to my addled mind that no piece of metal wreckage in existence had ever had four fingers, a thumb, and an unpleasantly large piece of bone visible on one end.

"That's an arm," I said calmly, as the world began to spin gently, "A severed, burned arm. I bet its owner's missing it."

"I doubt that, somehow," Celes gave me a sharp look, "Firma, I need you to focus. Kefka wouldn’t have left the Wriqurix in that hangar to burn, so it may be somewhere nearby. Can you sense its power pack?”

“I’ll try,” I took a long, deep breath, and gagged at the smell of burning flesh, “One second.”

Quickly, I closed my eyes, put my hands together in a vaguely meditative posture, and reached out to see what was going on in the world of magic. If the power pack was out there, surely I’d be able to-

"Sod!" my eyes snapped open, "It's…crazy out there!"

"Explain."

"That's the best explanation I can give, I'm afraid," I replied honestly, "I mean, someone's definitely been chucking a huge amount of magic around in the area, but I couldn't tell you who or what was doing it. It’s blocking everything else out!"

Celes gave the blazing hangar a long, dark look before replying, “So, no Wriqurix.”

“Not that I can sense. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Firma,” she said, and tapped her finger on her forehead, “Right. New plan. New vehicle...” she stopped, and looked down at my feet, “New shoes, too.”

At that exact moment, a pair of hands clapped down on my shoulders and a rather wry voice said, "Agreed."

Celes shrieked in surprise, and it was only with a truly titanic effort I managed to avoid leaping six feet out of my skin. Even so, I failed completely at maintaining my composure as I turned and fixed my commanding officer with a sharp glare.

"Damn you, Anceleti!" I took a long, deep breath, "Damn you and your sneaking up on people and your bloody godsdamn _awful_ one-liners! How old do you think you are?"

"Apparently not old enough, if I'm able to get the drop on a Mage Knight," Anceleti gave me an arch look, but his expression sobered as he turned to look at the collapsing hangar, "I see you've discovered our little bonfire."

"What actually happened here…Major?" Celes asked intently, "Is this Kefka's fault?"

"Basically? Yes, sir," Anceleti looked around, "But before I get into the detail, I think we should all get somewhere out of sight of anyone else who might come looking."

"Like the emergency services," I looked at the blazing building with a sick feeling in my stomach, "Where are they, anyway? It's not like the Sentinels to be caught napping."

"They weren't," Anceleti said grimly, "They just turned up too quickly for their own good."

"Oh," I replied numbly, "Well, I suppose that explains that, then."

Anceleti nodded, and turned to Celes, "General, I assume that you came here with my Cadet looking to take the Wriqurix, correct?"

"Yes," Celes said warily, "That's clearly not an option anymore, though."

"Of course not," Anceleti paused, "I have an alternative, but-" I caught the expression that flashed across his face as he turned to look to look at the hangar, and immediately wished I hadn't, "Well, we need to leave, now."

I had already decided, in the cynical depths of my mind, that the Major's intended route of egress would involve yet more pelting across dark, treacherous fields cold enough to freeze nitrogen. My poor, bare feet were, therefore, quite relieved when Anceleti chose instead to lead us past the back of several large, quiet hangars towards a distant set of lights at the far end of the runway.

"What happened, Major?" Celes stated again, in a tone that suggested she wasn't prepared to be fobbed off, "Specifically, I mean?"

"And was anyone else targeted?" I added quickly.

"Firma, don't speak over the General," Anceleti gave me a sharp look before turning to regard Celes, “We were attacked by a Titan.”

“Oh Goddess,” I murmured, “Not those white flames…”

“The very same,” Anceleti said grimly, “It came right down the runway and opened fire on the hangar, and…” he waved indistinctly in the general direction of the hangar, “...well, you’ve seen the results. You weren’t kidding when you said how powerful those flames were.”

“And the rest of the squadron?” I said urgently, “They’re okay, right? Jade and all?”

“Relax, Firma; they’re fine,” my CO said reassuringly, “Most of them weren’t even in the hangar when the Titan hit, and those of us that _were_ there did a runner as soon as we saw that damn tank come crunching down the runway."

"We heard screaming," Celes said quietly.

"So did we," Anceleti sighed, “We tried to warn off the first responders, but someone jammed our radios. The Titan came back and-”

“-we get the picture!” I said, a little more roughly than I intended, “Um, sorry, sir.”

“You’re doing fine, Firma,” said Anceleti, “Just remember what we taught you, and you’ll be fine.”

“Yes sir,” I said, “I mean, I don’t recall the lesson on Titan attacks, but…yes sir.”

"Good,” my commanding officer stopped suddenly, and a moment later I walked straight into his back, "Easy, Firma! Anyway, here we are."

My first impression of the apparent point of interest was that my commanding officer had cracked after watching his hangar get melted down for scrap. As far as I could tell, this strange, new point of interest was just like the six-hundred-or-so meters before it; dark, cold, and thoroughly unpleasant underfoot with just a hint of enormous warehouse to the left-hand side. 

Celes and I exchanged a long, wary look. It was clear she was thinking what I was thinking.

"Where is 'here', Major?" she asked pointedly, "I don't see anything."

Anceleti stepped up to the side of the warehouse and gave the apparently solid metal corrugate a good hard shove. There was a long, drawn-out screech of protesting metal and then a tall rectangular piece of metal fell inwards and hit the floor with a resounding ' _bang!_ '.

"Crikey," I gave my commanding officer a flat look, "And here I thought subtlety was supposed to be one of your strong suits."

"Someone's surely going to hear that," Celes added.

“Trust me, sir,” Anceleti said, "After everything that’s happened tonight, nobody’s going to care about anything that isn't smoking."

Celes and I exchanged another long, wary look. I shrugged, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Okay, fine,” I said, “So did this hole come from? Don't tell me that you've gone around slicing great big doors into the backs of all the hangars."

There was a gasp from somewhere deep inside the hangar, followed by the rhythmic thud of boots on the hard hangar floor. Both Celes and I tensed and then jumped back as the XO came barrelling through the makeshift entrance in a very un-Jade like manner.

“Did I hear- is that-” she began, and then stopped dead in her tracks, “Cadet!”

“Hi, Jade,” I gave her a weak smile and a wave, “Are you okay?”

“Never mind me,” she said briskly, “Where’s Cadet Other Branford?”

“Do you mean Terra?” the general gave her a quizzical look, “I was too late. Kefka took her.”

“That’s not quite right,” I said, and took a deep, trembling breath, “She agreed to go with Kefka to keep me safe. She...sacrificed herself for me.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the wind soughing across the fields and distant groans from our collapsing hangar. Celes laid a gentle hand on my shoulder, and when I turned to look she gave me a small, comforting smile.

“I’m going to kill Kefka,” said Jade. Her face had gone pale and her hands were trembling visibly, “I’m gonna to kill him with my own two hands if I have to.

“You’d better act fast, then,” observed Anceleti, “From the looks of it, there’s a queue forming. Anyway, how’s our own plan going?”

"'Could be better, could be worse," Jade sighed, "I'll have to thank Chief Song of at some point; he's kept all his birds in top nick. 'Trouble is, it's a bit difficult to get all the pre-flight checks done when you're working in the dark and there's a good chance that the whole place might be blown to pieces at any moment."

“How long?”

“Not long, but it’d be faster if I was actually doing it.”

“I’ll help,” I offered, but Jade shook her head.

“No, Cadet, you’ve been through enough. Now come inside before you freeze; I’ve made tea.”

* * *

What with the events of the past twenty-four hours, I was understandably worried about walking into yet _another_ pitch black hangar. I’d never previously considered a space best described as ‘large, open, and cavernous’ to be a particularly _good_ spot for an ambush, except for the catastrophically inept. That being said, Kefka was not the kind of person who was within a long-distance telegram of his own sanity. As far as I was concerned, right now _anything_ was a possibility.

Jade and Anceleti had done a good job of keeping a low profile. Most of the hangar stretched off into the inky black darkness, where helicopters loomed as dark, shadowy shapes that twisted and shifted just out of sight. A small spot light shone weakly on the cockpit of a small transport helicopter, standing alone before the large metal shutters, while a lantern sat nearby on a small table alongside a vacuum flask.

“Tea’s in the flask,” Jade said, her breath crystallising in the frigid air, “Get some down you; it’s the only warm thing in this hangar.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully. 

“Don’t expect too much, kiddie. It’s only those... _bags_ ,” she said, with some distaste, “My good stuff got burned up by the Titan.”

With a shrug I lifted the flask to my lips. Despite her misgivings the tea was surprisingly good, and I immediately felt the warmth percolating through my body. Until that moment, I hadn’t realised just how _cold_ I had been.

“That hits the spot,” I said, with a sigh, “Needs milk, though.”

“Savage,” Jade muttered, and swung into the helicopter to resume her work.

I proffered the flask to Celes, who shook her head and held up a hand. Instead, she turned to Anceleti.

“Major, I have a question for you,” she said, “How did you know to find us by your hangar? Did you get a letter?”

“A letter? No, sir,” he said, “I just put two and two together.”

“Explain.”

“Well, I knew that that attack at the Cadet barracks was a fake,” he said, “After all, there’d just been a big magical fight in my hangar; the same hangar that I’d stationed the Wriqurix in to get the Branfords to safety. It was pretty obvious to me that Kefka’d faked their deaths so he could have them all to himself. After all, the man’s a megalomaniac.”

Celes’ lips quirked, “That’s one word, certainly. But that doesn’t explain why you knew to look for us.”

“Well…” he paused, and then went on, “That’s thanks to you, sir.”

“Me?” the general looked surprised.

“You were meant to go and identify the Branfords’ corpses, but instead you went and bolted across the fields. Odd behaviour, particularly for you.”

“You were _observing_ me? How?”

“I have eyes.” he said shortly.

“‘Eyes’.”

“Yes sir,” he paused, and went on, “With respect, sir, for the past ten years my job has mostly been to look after a living superweapon. Sometimes I have to look after _two_. Believe me, spending a decade keeping one step ahead of our resident Mage Knights has taught me a thing or two about foresight.”

“And so you knew that one of us would think to use the Wriqurix.”

“Exactly,” he said, “And...well, here we are.”

“Very good, Major,” she said, “I’d tip my hat to you, but Firma’s wearing it.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and inclined his head, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and join my XO in stealing property of the Imperial Air Force.”

There was a hollow laugh from the helicopter cockpit, “We can add it to the bottom of the list of offences we’ve committed tonight. Treason, assisting deserters, stealing Magitek technology…we’ll be lucky if they just shoot us on sight.”

“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, “You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, we do,” Anceleti said firmly, “Remember that time with Agent Gagnon? You’re one of us. Right, Jade?”

“ _Damn_ right,” Jade said grimly, “ _Nobody’s_ touching my kiddies.”

“See?” the Major said, with a slight smile, “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

With that, he left to join Jade in the cockpit. In the ensuing silence, I pulled out one of the fold-out chairs and sat down gratefully. A moment later, Celes joined me. Her expression was guarded, but I knew her well enough to know that something was troubling her, even above and beyond our current circumstances.

“Are you okay?” I asked, and offered her the tea flask again, “Try some; it’s good. Warms the heart!”

“You’re going to keep offering this to me until I take it, aren’t you,” she said, and when I nodded she accepted it with a sigh, “You have very loyal COs, Firma. Not just anyone would go up against Kefka like them.”

“You have,” I pointed out, and then decided to press the issue, “What’s the matter, Celes?”

“Oh, I’m just...wondering,” she said, and took a swig from the flask, “Gods, that’s hot!”

“Good, though, right?” I said, and she nodded, “Never quite sure how she does it. I’ve spent years brewing her tea, and this is better than anything I’ve made.”

“It’s an art, I’m sure,” Celes said, “Firma...do you think that your squadron could’ve stopped those Titans?”

“Anceleti thought so,” I said, “You know, with a sustained barrage.”

“Yeah…” she said, staring vacantly off into the darkness, “I should’ve waited for them. Maranda wasn’t going anywhere, and what was a militia really going to do against that army? Five thousand people died because I was bloody _impatient_.”

“It’s not your fault-” I began, but stopped dead in the face of her sudden, withering stare.

“Of _course_ it’s my fault, Firma!” she said hotly, “I was the one in charge! _I’m_ responsible!”

“No, I mean...they were ordered home,” I said, “Possibly by Kefka, but I don’t know.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” I paused, and then added, “But it’s _not_ your fault. It’s your responsibility, sure, but both Terra and I saw what you were trying to do. If those Titans hadn’t gone rogue, you could’ve taken that city without blowing it all to pieces. That has to be worth something, right?”

“Not to the people who died,” she said, “Or their families.”

“I suppose not. I guess that responsibility’s why they pay Generals more than Sentinels," I frowned as thought struck me, "Hey, did you get paid last month?"

“Excuse me?” Celes said, clearly caught off guard by the sudden subject change, “You’re on the run from a mad General who’s kidnapped your sister, blown up your barracks and melted your hangar into a piece of modern art! Why are you worried if I got paid?”

"Did you?"

"Well, yes," Celes' forehead creased, "Of course I did."

"I didn't," I gave the lantern a dirty look, "The Empire owes me two hundred and twenty quid."

"That’s terrible," it was clear that the General didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed, "Of course, our current situation clearly means nothing when compared to your fiscal crisis."

"Terra owes me one hundred, too," I added morosely, "If I'd known she was going to get steady work from Kefka I would've added compound interest."

"Oh my word…" Celes turned away, and there was the sound of something being unzipped, "I'll make a deal with you; if you stop complaining, _I'll_ give you that three hundred and twenty gil you're pining over."

"Three hundred, actually," I said, "I owe Tanis twenty for a cup of coffee."

"And you'll stop talking?"

"For three hundred? Like a shot," I smirked, and was subsequently astounded when Celes pressed three large coins into my hand, "What, you're serious?"

"If you promise to never, ever talk about this ever again," her lips quirked once more, "Understand?"

"Sure," I shrugged, and stuffed the coins in my pocket, “Those pre-flight checks have to be done soon. It doesn’t take _that_ long to get a Bluebird going-”

There was a deep, reverberating ‘thud’ from somewhere outside and the lantern rattled on the table. Celes and I gave each other a worried look.

“What do you think that was?” I asked.

“Probably bad news,” she replied. Right on cue, there was another distant ‘thud’, “But just to be sure...can you check?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. The world faded into grey, twisting shadow as I reached out again with my other senses. It was still pretty crazy out there, but in amongst the twisting, crackling rivers of magic I could now sense a towering, hulking figure. Barely restrained power thrummed through thick glowing conduits, and on each side two enormous cores burned like stars in the shifting darkness. As I watched, an enormous, glowing foot lifted ponderously and slammed back down on the ground, and once again the hangar shook with the impact.

“Oh,” my eyes snapped open, “Oh, _sod_.”

“It’s the Titan, isn’t it,” Celes said, and I nodded urgently.

“It’s coming this way!”

“Of course it is,” she said grimly, and jumped to her feet, “Major! We have a Titan inbound!”

There was a curse from somewhere inside the helicopter, and then the Major head poked out of the cockpit window, “Are you certain, sir?”

“ _He_ is,” Celes said, indicating me with a nod of her head. 

“We haven’t given our position away,” he said, in the tones of someone clearly trying to remain calm, “Maybe... it’ll just pass us by?”

“It’s making a beeline straight for us!” I said, “It knows we’re here!”

“No, Firma,” Celes said softly, “I think it knows _you’re_ here. Or _she_ does.”

“You mean... _Terra_ ? She can’t pilot a Titan!” I began, and then added, “...can she? _Sir_?”

“Later!” she said firmly, “Anceleti? Where are we with the helicopter?”

Anceleti was staring intently at the General, and I could very clearly see the cogs whirring in his head, “Hold on, sir. Surely you don’t think that Kefka-”

“I promise you, I tell you _what_ I think as soon as we’re away,” said Celes, quickly, “But we have to get away right now!”

“One more minute!” came Jade’s voice from somewhere deep inside the helicopter, “Just - ow, damnit!”

“Is there anything _we_ can do to expedite matters?”

“We’ll need the hangar doors open to escape,” said Anceleti, “We kept them closed to avoid detection...but they’ll take far too long to open by themselves. Can you assist my Cadet in cutting them free?”

“Of course!” she said, and snatched the lantern from the table, “Firma? Let’s go!”

There was another _thud_ , much louder this time, and dust fell from the rafters as we raced across the hangar to the shutters. They were colossal, imposing things, and gleamed dimly in the light of the lantern as we approached. There were ladders on either side, which reached up into the shadows to a shaky gantry far overhead.

“Right,” Celes said, and twisted the head of the lantern. The light flickered out and was replaced with a brilliant spotlight, “Get up there and cut it free, Firma! I’ll keep the light on you.”

With a quick nod, I got a firm grip on the frigid rungs and began climbing as fast as I could. The freezing metal tore at my feet and seared my hands as I raced for the gantry, ever-mindful of the approaching Titan and it’s white hot flames. Another loud _‘thud’_ reverberated through the air, and I hung on grimly as the ladder shook and shivered uncertainly. 

“Hurry, Firma! The Titan won’t wait for us!”

I cursed under my breath, and then wrenched my hands from the icy rungs and with a final burst of energy flopped onto the gantry. My palms were cracked and covered in half-frozen blood and I was sure that my feet were no better, but with an effort I forced the pain down deep inside and clambered to my feet. With a flick of my wrist I called a long, crackling blade of blue-gold light into existence and plunged it deep into the shutter. The steel hissed and spat as I ran down the creaking, swaying gantry, leaving a shower of sparks and a bright, glowing trail of molten metal in my wake. An ominous groan filled the air as the shutters began to sag, and then with a ‘crack’ they snapped free and slammed into the ground with a cacophonous racket that shook the building to its foundations. Moonlight streamed in through the now open hangar door, bathing the Bluebird in a beautiful ethereal light.

Quickly, I dismissed the cutting blade and lunged for the nearest ladder. My blood-slickened feet slipped on the rungs and I hit the frame hard. For a single, heart-stopping moment I hung by my fingertips while I scrabbled for purchase, but then another _‘thump’_ shook the ladder violently and hurled me into empty space. As my stomach lurched and the cold wind whistled through my ears, I desperately gathered all my magic and focused it back into my barriers. A blue-gold sphere of light hummed into existence around me and I braced myself for the impac-

-with a terrific flash, my barriers met the reinforced glass of a helicopter cockpit and shattered into a thousand crackling shards. I hit the glass with a bone-jarring thud and slid slowly, limply to the floor.

“Firma!” Celes’ cry echoed across the hangar, and I looked up with some difficulty to see her racing towards me, “ _Firma!_ ”

“I’m...okay,” I groaned, and got to my knees by leaning on the helicopter, “Nothing broken, I think.”

“Don’t do that to me!” she breathed. The blood had drained from her face, and as she helped me to my feet I could feel her hand trembling, ever so slightly, “When you fell, I-”

From behind her, there was the tell-tale ‘whum-whum-whum’ of the Bluebird’s rotors winding up, and she shook her head.

“Never mind,” she said, “Can you move?”

“Just about. I think I left half my feet on those ladders, though.”

“We’ll get you new feet! Now _move!_ ”

Celes and I half-ran, half-stumbled across the hangar, fighting against the almost-overwhelming downdraft from the helicopter. She reached the passenger door first and clambered inside, before turning and helping me aboard just as the transport lifted ponderously into the air. 

“Thanks,” I said, and collapsed into a handy seat.

“Mmm,” Celes gave my hands and feet a hard look, “Gods, Firma. Where’s the first aid kit?”

“I-” I began, but stopped suddenly. From somewhere outside the hangar, there came an unpleasant, high-pitched whine that could clearly be heard over the sounds of the rotors. My blood went cold, “We have to go! The Titan’s preparing to fire!”

“We know!” snapped Jade, “Hold on!”

The helicopter tilted forward ever so slightly as my CO nosed it carefully over the wreckage. From behind us the whine was replaced with a terrific roar of flame. The warehouse wall began to glow a deep, cherry red that brightened to a blinding white. Heat blasted through the helicopter cabin, and the Bluebird swayed dangerously in the sudden warmth.

“C’mon...c’mon…” I heard Anceleti say, from somewhere up ahead. Celes and I watched with mounting terror as the hangar wall shrieked and crumpled in the mounting heat. Gouts of deadly white flame spurted through the melting steel and spread across the floor in great sheets, licking at helicopter wheels and equipment cabinets. A wave passed over the little table where we had been sitting not five minutes earlier, and when it passed it was simply gone.

“Here we go! Hold on!” cried Jade. The whine from the rotors reached a fever pitch, and the Bluebird leapt forwards as the hangar wall gave way with a burst of flame and a scream of collapsing metal. I saw a single, chilling moment of the hangar completely bathed in fire, and then we were up and away into the freezing winter air. From somewhere beneath us there was a thunderous detonation, and it felt as if the helicopter had been slammed from below by a sledgehammer. The Bluebird shook wildly, and I hung onto my restraints for dear life and prayed that they would hold.

The shaking stopped as suddenly as it started, and in the ensuing, eerie silence I exhaled noisily and relaxed back into my seat.

“Gods,” I muttered, mostly to myself, “This is getting ridiculous.”

“Must’ve caught the ammo dump,” remarked Anceleti from up front, “That was too damn clos-!”

Suddenly a loud, pulsing tone filled the cabin, drowning out the voice of my commanding officer.

“Lock!” cried Jade, “Someone’s trying to draw a bead on us!”

“We aren’t in the clear yet!” said Celes briskly, and unclipped her restraints, “Major - you need to stay directly over the Titan while we climb! Those guns can only incline so much!”

“Yessir!” said Anceleti, and he brought the helicopter around in a long curve back around towards the smoke.

“What countermeasures does this thing have?”

“None, sir!” said Jade, “It’s a Bluebird. It’s not designed to go anywhere near a battlefield.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Celes said, with just a hint of resignation, “Firma!”

“Yessir?” I said, and got to my feet with a wince.

“Terra’ll already know you didn’t burn up in that hangar. If she can’t get us with the main guns, she’ll use her heat-seekers. The instant we see a missile, I need you to take it down before it blows us apart!”

“Yessir!” I said, and took up a position by the cabin door. For the first time I was able to fully see the extent of the devastation, and it caught me right in the gut. The hangar - _my_ hangar, the place I’d basically grown up, had been reduced to slag. Flames danced and guttered in the wreckage, and thick black smoke curled into the sky. 

My reverie was shaken as the pulsing tone became a single, drawn-out whine, and from deep within the smoke there was a sudden flare of light. A trio of dazzling stars screamed into the sky and streaked towards us with deadly intent.

“There!” Celes said sharply, “Missiles!”

“I see!” I replied, and called a brace of golden, crackling spheres into existence, and with a wave of my hand I hurled them straight at the approaching missiles, “Everyone brace!” 

The Titan’s missiles and my magic slammed headlong into one another and exploded in a brilliant wave of blue and gold that lit up the night sky. The Bluebird jolted, and there was a sudden, agonising burst of pain as I cracked my head on the wall, hard. Strange lights and pretty colours swam before my eyes, and for just an instant the ever-present klaxon sounded as if it was coming from a very long way away, possibly underwater.

“Hey, hey! Are you still with us?” Celes said, and snapped her fingers in front of my face, “That was a pretty nasty-looking knock.”

“I’m...fine, I think,” I lightly probed the side of my head to make sure it was all intact. It was warm and slick to the touch, and when I checked my fingers I wasn’t entirely surprised to see blood, "Oh, bugger; I'm bleeding."

“Let me see-”

“We need help up here!” Jade called urgently, “Anceleti’s hurt!”

Far below, the smoke cleared for just a moment, revealing the hulking form of the enormous battle tank. Its burnished armour gleamed brightly in the fire, and white fire still danced around the tips of the enormous, underslung cannons. There was another flare from its back, and three more missiles rose towards us on pillars of flame.

“Hold on!” I shouted, and called some more hunter-seekers into existence. They leapt towards the missile, trailing royal blue motes in their wake, and there was another radiant explosion that rattled the Bluebird down to the rivets. The Titan surged forwards, effortlessly shouldering the molten wreckage aside, and then with an intense flash of light all six tubes on its left shoulder discharged at once, unleashing a storm of missiles that twisted together as they rocketed towards us.

“She was holding back!” I gasped, “Celes...I can’t-”

“Do what you can!” she snapped, “I’ll take care of the rest!”

With gritted teeth I summoned up a third round of drones. They were weaker, pale and wan, and with a prayer I guided them towards the missiles with the hope that they might just throw them off our scent. Four of the missiles peeled off and exploded violently in midair, but the last two came storming through the blast, still doggedly on our tail.

The General concentrated for just a moment, muttering under her breath. The air around her twinkled and sparked like tiny diamonds, and with a yell she extended a glowing, icy-blue hand. With a howl and a ‘crack’ of ice, a blizzard of icy blades erupted into existence and scythed through the air towards the approaching missiles. The first went down immediately, cut to ribbons by the razor-sharp storm, but the second hung on grimly trailing smoke and oil from deep cuts. At the very last second a glancing blow smashed a tail fin to pieces, and with a rush of air the missile twisted down and under the helicopter. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable wave of heat and pain, but all that came was a dull, distant thunderclap from somewhere far below.

“Off course,” Celes said, and exhaled long and hard, “That was…”

“Yeah,” I slumped against the side of the cabin, “Please tell me that was the last salvo. I don’t think I could stop another one.”

“You won’t; that was her full complement,” she said, and right on cue the warning klaxons cut out, leaving only the sound of the Bluebird’s rotors.

“Oh, thank Callista.”

“Good job, Firma,” she said, “Now rest; I’ll go check on the pilots.”

The General vanished into the cockpit, leaving me to peer wearily out of the cockpit door at the Titan. It stood there impassively, its missiles spent, and I wondered if Terra was sitting in its cockpit looking up at me.

“What’re you doing, Tee?” I asked, softly, “ _Why_ are you doing this?”

Celes quickly re-emerged from the cockpit and took up her previous position.

"They're fine," she said shortly, "Anceleti’s sustained a minor head injury; he’ll probably just have a headache.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, and then pointed at the motionless Titan, “What do you think she’s doing now?”

“Waiting for further orders, I should think,” Celes said, and reached for the cabin door handle, “Right. We need to close up so we can gain some altitude and turn on the heaters.”

“Yes sir,” I said, and sighed, “Sorry. I just...feel like I’m abandoning her. You know, to Kefka.”

The General looked like she was about to say something, but then a shriek of tortured metal echoed through the cabin. The Titan was moving, pushing through the remains of the hangar and out onto the airstrip.

“Where’s she going?” I asked, “Is she going back to reload?”

“I don’t think so - no, look!” Celes said, and pointed up the airstrip to an approaching cloud of dust and snow, “I think that must be the Imperial army!”

“What? Taking on that Titan? Are they _insane?_ It’s going to be a slaughter!”

A ripple of cannon fire tore the air apart and I watched, my heart in my mouth, as the shells impacted the Titan’s barriers with a wave of actinic blue flares. Completely undamaged, the hulking war machine strode forwards confidently, shrugging off another salvo without pause. 

“Wait, Tee!” I shouted, “Don’t... _no!_ ”

Dreadful red light spilled from the heavy guns, and then collapsed a single, sun-bright point before blasting outwards as an enormous beam of pure, fiery death. Even from this distance, I could see the air around the writhing, glowing front flash into steam as it hurtled towards the helpless tanks at a pace that far outstripped the missiles.

Just before the terrible impact, Celes grabbed the cabin door and slammed it shut.

“Wait-”

“You don’t need to see that, Firma,” she said softly, “It won’t help.”

“No,” I said, and sat down heavily in my chair, “...I suppose it won’t.”

“I’ll tell the Major to set course to Tzen,” she said, “And then I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

  
  



	8. Terra Incognita

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continuing thanks to VallasRevas for their dedicated Beta reading.   
> Check them out here!: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VallasRevas/pseuds/VallasRevas

In retrospect, I’m glad Celes shut that door. It may surprise you (and would probably surprise her) that the reason for this  _ isn’t  _ because she saved me for witnessing another atrocity. By that point in the day, I’d seen so many people and buildings blasted into ash that I was basically numb to the concept. So numb, in fact, that watching a group of shadowy tanks being obliterated in the dark from a great distance probably wouldn’t have elicited a greater reaction than a weary sigh.

No, the  _ real _ reason (and it might seem a  _ little _ bit odd) is that by that point, I was too exhausted to pretend that I was suffering from a moral quandary. As a faithful Sentinel, I’m expected to epitomise the virtues of mercy, compassion, and self-sacrifice. If someone asks me ‘Who would you choose to die; fifty men or your sister?’ the  _ correct _ answer (by which I mean the one that toes the party line) is that I should not only throw Terra under the bus but then reverse over her several times just to be sure. In reality, though?

No. Sod  _ that _ .

I make no apology for the fact that in truth, a large part of me was rooting for the Titan. It’s awful, and I feel terrible for the fifty men who died in that strike. I feel worse for their loved ones, who were left with nothing but a small pile of ash to mourn over - but at the same time  _ my _ loved one was sitting smack dab in the cockpit of that damn war machine. Who  _ else  _ am I bloody well going to support? If there was some way I could’ve swooped in and saved the day, then you’d better believe that I would’ve been front and centre, but I can’t honestly claim that I’m  _ completely  _ unsatisfied with the outcome of that fight. Saddened, maybe, but...it is what it is.

It has to be said, though, that my feelings on the matter are alleviated somewhat by the fact that a ground assault on a Titan-class Magitek tank is a mind-meltingly stupid idea. It is, in fact, a plan so  _ colossally _ brainless that it even turns up in my current reference book  _ 'Mr. Pigg's Slaughterhouse: A critical examination of catastrophic military strategies (Ages four and up)' _ for reasons that should now be obvious to all and sundry. If you don’t  _ want _ to be incinerated by the giant, hulking, nigh-invulnerable death-tank, then...maybe don’t piss it off? Practical advice for your next life, lads.

I know I’ve gone on a bit here, but as a parting comment I’d just like to apologise for that pun right up the top. It was pretty inevitable, and I also know that it’s one of those things that presses that little button in Terra’s brain marked ‘Apocalyptic Rage’. Luckily, I've already come up with a cunning survival plan that basically involves not being anywhere within a five hundred mile radius of her when she gets around to reading this. I'd strongly,  _ strongly _ advise that you follow suit, or at the very least go and ask your local government official what 'duck and cover' policies are in place for your area.

Good luck, and...don’t wrap up warm. You won’t need to.

* * *

I was tired. Scratch that; I was absolutely  _ exhausted _ , and the adrenaline slowly drained away, I felt the events of the day start to catch up with me in horrible, haunting images. Maranda? Gone; screaming soldiers burned away to nothing, its main hospital reduced to smouldering wreckage. My barracks? Blown to pieces, along with my friends, acquaintances, and even poor Doris. My hanger? A smoking pile of molten metal, with my squadron scattered to the four winds. Terra? My twin sister? She’d thrown herself to the wolves to keep me alive, and then tried to kill me with one of the most advanced weapons systems the world had ever seen...

Tears pricked at my eyes, but I wasn’t sure if they were from sadness, anger, or total despair. My feelings all swirled together in a confusing, tortuous cloud deep inside, and I began to tremble uncontrollably with their force. In less than twenty four hours, Kefka had taken everything good about my life and crushed it into little pieces. If I could just get close to him, I could-

With an effort, I brought myself up short. I so  _ desperately _ wanted to scream, or sob, or even smash something, but as a Mage Knight I knew I couldn’t do any of those things. I couldn’t afford to lose control; the consequences were too severe. Instead, I hauled myself up into a cross-legged position and closed my eyes. The first step was getting my breathing under control. Once I had my breathing under control, I could get my emotions under control…

Celes’ return was announced by the ‘clunk’ of her boots on the cold metal floor.

“Hey,” she said, “I’ve brought- oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

I cracked open a single eye. Celes was standing in the entrance, holding a flask in one hand and an aviator’s jacket in the other.

“It’s okay,” I said, “You weren’t interrupting anything. Is that-”

“Coffee,” she said, “And Anceleti asked me to give you his jacket.”

“Thanks, sir,” I said, and accepted the jacket with a grateful smile. Despite being a size too big and smelling of engine oil, Anceleti’s jacket was warm and comforting. I curled myself up inside of it as best I could.

“Ah, that’s better…” I said, “These Bluebirds really don’t have good heaters.”

“No, they don’t,” Celes agreed, and sat down in the seat across from me, “So...grandfather’s breathing exercises?”

“Yeah.”

“...are they helping?” 

“Just started.”

“Oh, right,” she sat back, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Firma…” she paused for a moment, “You don’t have to keep calling me ‘sir’. Not right now.”

“Thanks, Celes,” I said, and did my best to return to my breathing exercises. I hadn’t used them in several years - hadn’t  _ needed _ to, to be honest, but I didn’t want to risk manifesting a supercell or accidentally blast a hole in the side of the helicopter. There was a subtle rustle from Celes’ seat, and then I heard her deep, rhythmic breaths in almost perfect time with my own. Despite the terrible situation I smiled inwardly; Kefka hadn’t taken  _ everything  _ good about my life.

Slowly, painfully slowly, I felt the urge to lash out and destroy fade away into the swirling miasma in the pit of my stomach. Sure, I was basically running on fumes fashioned from pure anger and grief, but at least it was  _ me _ in the driver’s seat. With a final exhalation, I opened my eyes and found Celes surveying me with a look of cautious concern.

“Are you feeling any better?” she said.

“Not really,” I admitted, “But it’s a start.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit much to try and breathe away, isn’t it,” she said, and looked over my shoulder, “Ah, Major. Are we on course?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, “We should reach Tzenia International in approximately three hours.”

“Excellent,” she said, “We’ll probably have to move quickly when we touch down, though. How quickly do you think we’ll be detected?”

“Almost immediately, sir,” he said, “But that’s why we picked this particular helicopter. It’s not as fast as a Shimmer and it doesn’t have the range of the old Slipstreams, but Bluebirds are cheap, reliable, and  _ everywhere _ . I’d be surprised if there aren’t at least another half dozen of them buzzing around Tzenia when we arrive.”

“Hiding in plain sight, then?”

“Essentially. While we were fixing up the Bluebird I also took the liberty of booking a slot to pick up more medical supplies,” he shrugged, “By the time they realise that hasn’t happened, we’ll be long gone.”

“Very impressive, Major,” Celes said, and then her eyes narrowed, “But how did you know that we’d be coming to Tzen?”

“I didn’t, sir,” he said, “But I figured we’d need somewhere to go to ground. If it turned out we needed to go elsewhere? Well...Wareydon’s hangars  _ have  _ just been reduced to ash by a rogue Titan. Everyone would assume that the Bluebird was just another casualty.”

The General blinked, “If we survive this, Major, I think that there will have to be a promotion in store for yourself and your XO. Your talents are clearly being wasted.”

“Very good, sir,” a faint smile flashed across Anceleti’s face, and then he became carefully professional once again, “Are you intending on telling us what you plan to do, then? Jade and I will need time to prepare before we reach Tzen.”

“I will,” she said, “But I promised Firma that I’d explain everything I could when we escaped. That comes first, and I’d also like you and your XO to hear what I’ve got to say.”

“Oh, Jade’s listening,” said Anceleti, “She’s just being quiet about it.”

“ _ Thank  _ you, sir,” Jade’s voice echoed from the cockpit, “You’re taking all the fun out of my life, you realise that?”

“Apparently it's something I excel at,” Anceleti said blandly, and sat down in a handy seat, “We’re all ears, sir. Especially Jade.”

“Okay,” Celes seemed to be steeling herself, “Where do I start…”

“Can you start by telling me that my sister isn’t a mass murderer?” I blurted out, suddenly. My voice was unsteady, and I could feel the tears pricking once again at my eyes, “Because what I saw down there looked an  _ awful _ lot like mass murder, and...and...if she was doing that because Kefka was holding  _ me  _ hostage, then-”

“Hold on, Firma,” she said, and gave me a sympathetic look, “If I’m right, the Titan attack was  _ not  _ your sister’s fault. She likely didn’t have any choice in the matter.”

“Really?” I said challengingly, “Because you seemed pretty sure that she was in that Titan. You know, the one that burned everything to the ground and immolated all those first responders? The one that she  _ shouldn’t be able to pilot _ ?”

“Firma-” Anceleti began warningly, but Celes waved him aside.

“It’s okay, Major. Let’s all just speak frankly for now,” she said calmly, “There’s no easy way for me to say this, Firma, so I’m just going to say it. If I’m right, Terra’s been enslaved by Kefka.”

There was a pause, and I frowned, “I know. But-”

“I mean  _ completely  _ enslaved,” she pressed, “There are rumours - quite reliable rumours, I might add - that people working under Kefka have come up with a device that can completely suppress someone’s free will.”

“I’ve heard the same thing, sir,” Anceleti agreed, “They called it a ‘Slave Crown’, as I recall, but I’d thought they’d abandoned it.”

“I’d  _ hoped _ so, but...I was given a warning yesterday. ” said Celes, and gave me a pointed look, “It was in the letter I received.”

“So...Terra’ll do anything Kefka says?” I asked, dreading the answer, “ _ Anything _ ?”

“Anything  _ anyone _ says,” she said, “I’d imagine they have to keep her on quite a tight leash.”

There was a brief moment while I considered the implications of this, and then I felt a wave of nausea rising up in my stomach.

“I...think I’m going to be sick,” I mumbled, and then reached for the sick-bag in the side of the seat, “Actually, I  _ am- _ ”

Luckily, I hadn’t had a lot to eat or drink in the past eight hours, and what came out was mostly tea. Even so, I retched noisily into the bag until my stomach was spent, grateful that both Celes and Anceleti had the good graces to look away while I did so.

“Sorry,” I said, as I folded the top of the bag shut, “I-”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Celes firmly, and handed me the coffee to rinse my mouth, “It’s just as horrifying as you think.”

“I don’t see  _ you _ throwing up.”

“Generals aren’t allowed to throw up,” she said, with just the hint of a smile, “It’s the  _ rules _ .”

“So why are we going to Tzen, then?” I asked, “We can’t abandon Terra to Kefka! Not with that thing on her head!”

“We  _ aren’t _ abandoning her, Firma!” Celes said, in a suddenly fierce tone. Clearly, I’d accidentally struck a nerve, “But we can’t do anything for her while she’s in that Titan!”

“But... what else can I do?” I said, and gave her a helpless look, “I can’t leave her. I _ can’t _ .”

“Listen to me, Firma,” she said, more gently now, “Terra may struggle to express herself sometimes; hell, I’m not sure she even  _ understands _ herself sometimes, but I  _ do  _ know that she loves you more than  _ anything _ . She sacrificed herself  _ because  _ she loves you, and I’m not about to spit on her selflessness by getting us all killed in some pointless, impossible crusade!”

“We’ll get her back, I promise,” added Anceleti, “But we’ll have to do it by being smart.”

“I...know,” I said finally, “You’re right. You’re  _ both _ right. I just… sodding hell, how did Kefka manage to pull this off?”

“Because Kefka knows exactly how to twist people’s best qualities against them,” said Celes, “He always has. He did it to you, and now he’s done it to Terra.”

“Well, now I want him dead,” I said, coldly, “I don’t care what the Goddess says, I want him  _ dead _ .”

“One thing at a time, okay?” she said, “We need to stop and think about what we’re going to do next. Anceleti?”

“Yessir?”

“Could this Bluebird get us to Doma?”

“Doma?” he shook his head, “No sir. Not even close. If you need to go to Doma, though...I’m sure we can requisition a suitable aircraft at Tzenia International.”

“A Carristan would do the trick, sir!” called Jade, from up front, “There’s always a couple at any major airport, too. It’s been a little while since I’ve flown one, but I’m sure I’ll remember how before we reach the end of the runway!”

“In short, sir? If you tell us where you want to go, we’ll get you there,” Anceleti said, “I assume you want to talk to General Leo.”

“Indeed,” she said, and added, “When he finds out what’s happened here…”

“I’m sure the fireworks will be spectacular, sir,” said the Major, in a tone of dark amusement.

“I...um, I can’t come to Doma,” I said suddenly, and the General and Major looked at me in surprise.

“I beg your pardon?” Celes said, as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears, “Why not?”

“I have to go to Narshe,” I said, “That mystry letter writer said that there was something going on there that was...significant for me and Terra. Apparently it's the only way to help her.”

“Narshe?” Celes’ response was subtle, but I knew her well enough to spot sudden panic when I saw it, “No, Firma. You  _ have  _ to come with us to Doma.”

“I do?”

“Yes, I need to prove to Leo what’s going on, and unless I have you trailing behind me like a bedraggled puppy then it’ll just be my word against Kefka’s. You think Kefka wouldn’t put Terra up on treason charges to save his own skin? She  _ was  _ the one in the Titan, after all.”

“I...but-”

“That was an order, Firma,” she said, “Understood?”

“...yes, sir,” I said, a little reluctantly, and looked over at my CO. From his expression it was clear he hadn’t missed her reaction either, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to start interrogating her over it.

“Good,” she said, and tension drained almost imperceptibly from her shoulders, “Please believe me; if I could think of a better way to help Terra, I’d take it. This problem is internal to the Empire, and I just don’t see how we can do anything unless we get popular support. That means Leo.”

“What if he sides with Kefka?”

“He won’t,” Celes said confidently, “He might be polite to him in public, but those two  _ hate _ each other. If we give him the opportunity to take Kefka down, he’ll definitely take it.”

“Well, if you’re saying it…” I said, and yawned suddenly. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t actually had a  _ decent  _ sleep since before Maranda, and since then I’d done more magic then I’d normally do in a week. My muscles ached, and I could feel the telltale signs of a headache massing at my temples, “...that’s good enough for me.”

“Get some sleep, Firma,” Celes said, “We’ve got three hours until we get to Tzen, and it’s not going to help our case if you drop dead of exhaustion before we meet General Leo.”

“Yeah…” I said, and settled down as best I could on the unyielding seat, “Yeah, you’re right…”

* * *

Okay. I’m pretty sure that nobody here’s all  _ that _ interested in hearing about a three-hour snooze. It doesn’t rate amongst my top ten naps, and about the only thing I can report from it is that I apparently snore loudly enough to be heard above a Bluebird’s rotors. That’s got to be an accomplishment, right? If nothing else, it explains a lot about my fiancee’s choice of night-time ear protection.

Two things; firstly, I’m sure that we’ve all picked up on the fact that Celes was absolutely, positively, 100% determined that I shouldn’t go to Narshe. This is clearly for reasons that are all entirely above board and have nothing to do with anything ‘significant’ that may or may not have happened there. I mean, I might get coal dust in my eye, become depressed at the high cost of alcohol, or even get eaten by a polar bear! She was obviously just looking out for my well being, and I think we should all take a moment to thank her for her tender concern at this difficult time.

Secondly? Let’s talk about Tzen! I like Tzen, mainly because it's the place I met my fiancee (more on that later) but also because it still has some of the old Vectoran architecture that everyone else tore down on grounds of good taste. It’s an eyesore, true enough, but for some reason I find it strangely nostalgic - even if it is harkening back to a time of tyranny and oppression. Despite the fact I’ve actually spent a reasonable length of time there over the years, I’m not exactly up to speed on its history, but what I  _ do _ have is a couple of brochures that I’ve pinched from the local travel agents. Let’s see what I can paraphrase...

If one were to adopt a rather cartoonish, overly simplistic view of the world, there could be said to be only two kinds of port cities. First off, you have the peaceful, sun-kissed villages where azure waves lap gently at an ivory shore and the local currency is the coconut. Naturally, Port City #2 is the more ‘productive’ type where the shoreline is mostly discarded trolleys and the local currency is a mix between harsh language, beer hangovers, and knuckle sandwiches. The interesting thing about Tzen is that (thanks to the Empire) it has had the rather dubious honour of being both.

Originally, the capital city of Tzenia was about as stereotypical a tropical fishing village as you could get. The parents fished, the kids played on the beach, and apart from the occasional passing hurricane or virulent tropical disease the villagers had ne’er a care in the world. Naturally, this happy-go-lucky community thrived and grew into a large, bustling, palm-tree filled city with a coconut-based economy. Eventually, Tzenia expanded to cover the whole of the north part of the continent.

Unfortunately, about one hundred years ago they expanded right into territory claimed by the Empire, who  _ weren’t _ born of a peaceful village on the sunny northern coastlines. To Tzenia (a civilisation largely unused to the idea of warfare) the massed columns of the Empire proved to be a very nasty shock, and a brutal annexation swiftly followed. I’ll spare you the details, but the fact there’s a place known locally as ‘The Forest of Unmarked Graves’ should tell you all you need to know.

Now, if we were talking about somewhere like Maranda this would be where the story ends. The victorious Empire expanded its borders, set up a garrison, and generally left its subjects alone except when it needed something from them. Tzenia, however, had a strong culture of wayfinding, and had been trading lucratively across the globe almost since time immemorial. For the Empire, this was perfect; not only had they captured an enormous trading city, but they’d also got a place where they could funnel all those dirty foreigners and stop them from going any further into the Southern Continent. However, to ensure those same dirty foreigners were suitably impressed (and cowed) by the glory of the Empire, Tzen became the second capital city and underwent substantial redecorating to properly reflect this fact.

The main trouble for everyone here is that Imperial building design tended to be a cross between 'steampunk' and 'horrific train accident'. This was exemplified in Tzen where the culturally significant, beautifully delicate buildings were bulldozed flat and replaced with large, hideous buildings with lots of gilt and no soul. This was made all the worse, of course, by the fact that the gilding was subsequently nicked. There’s been a lot of demolition and remodelling work since (which has definitely kept bread on my sister’s table), but if I’m being honest, I don’t think they’ll ever fully be rid of them.

* * *

I slept fitfully for most of the journey to Tzen, roused occasionally by the uncomfortable chair and people talking in the cockpit. While I couldn’t make out what they were saying, even in my doze I could tell they weren’t particularly happy. At one point, I was sure I even heard Anceleti’s ‘dressing down’ tone echoing through the cabin.

Consciousness returned slowly, and as I sat up and stretched I caught Celes’ eye. She was sitting bolt-upright on the nearest chair, with a small pamphlet clutched tightly in her hands. From the creases and marks up and down the paper it looked like it had been read over, and over, and over again.

“Ah, you’re up,” she said, in a surprisingly brisk tone, “We’ll be coming into land shortly. At least, that's what your COs said.”

“That soon? Wow. I guess I-” I yawned again, “-really needed that sleep...”

“And more besides, probably,” she said wryly, “Hopefully we can find something more comfortable for our flight to Doma.”

“I shouldn’t count on it,” I said, “Unless we make off with some millionaire’s private plane.”

“We might get lucky...oh, before I forget-” she held up a pair of thick, calf-length socks, “-I found these in one of those equipment lockers.”

“Compression socks?” 

“I thought they’d be better than going barefoot,” she said, and handed them over, “Tzenia’s warmer than Wareydon, but not by much.”

“Oh...um, thank you,” I said, and nodded at the pamphlet in her lap, “Familiarising yourself with the crash procedure?”

“A little,” she said. Her voice was calm, but I realised that she’d been clutching that pamphlet almost like a talisman, “It’s the most dangerous part of flying, after all...”

“It’ll be fine, Celes,” I said reassuringly, “Anceleti and Jade could land this thing blindfolded in a hurricane.”

“I know that!” she said testily, “I just want to know what’s taking so long!”

There was a cough from the cockpit, and then Anceleti said, “Sorry for the delay, General, but we’re just waiting for an available pad. The controller here has...a bit of a reputation.”

"Hah," Jade said, "You mean he's a small, stuffy little man with delusions of grandeur. The Emperor of Tzenia International Airport!"

"In his mind, perhaps," Anceleti snorted, "He’ll fly into a rage over anything that deviates even  _ slightly _ from his gods-given rule, and...well, we’re a deviation.”

“I thought you called ahead,” said Celes.

“Yes sir,” he said, “But I didn’t call ahead three days in advance with the correct forms submitted in triplicate and countersigned by a unicorn. You’ll remember him, Firma. Your, uh,  _ inventive _ landing last year almost gave him a heart attack.”

“I thought we all agreed to never speak of that again!” I said, “Besides, I landed in the end!”

“You know that they  _ still _ talk about the mythical Cadet Kangaroo, right?” observed Jade, “You’re practically a legend in these parts.”

“Really?” Celes raised a single eyebrow, “And how come I never heard about this?”

“Even  _ Terra _ ’ _ s  _ never heard about this!” I said quickly, “And...don’t tell her. Please. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

The General gave me a long, even look, and then actually  _ laughed _ , “It’s okay, Firma. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“ _ Thank _ you, sir,” I said, “I appreciate it.”

It was still dark when we approached the airstrip, but from the sound of the wind whipping around outside it was pretty evident that we'd just hit the front of one of the many energetic storms that came visiting during the Tzenian wet season. The little Bluebird juddered and swayed in the shifting winds, and from the cockpit I could hear the occasional bout of cursing and swearing as Anceleti and Jade battled hard against the treacherous conditions.

Celes, for her part, was sitting bolt upright in her restraints, her face pale and tight. She was holding onto her restraints with one white-knuckled hand, while the other had long since crushed her lucky pamphlet into a tight ball.

“It’ll be okay, Celes,” I said, in a low, comforting tone, “It  _ will _ . This is  _ normal _ .”

“ _ Is _ it?” she said, through gritted teeth, “Because it doesn’t sound normal up front!”

“What? Jade, swearing?” I smiled, “She does that in her sleep. I didn’t realise you were afraid of flying.”

“I’m  _ not _ afraid of flying!” she said, “I’m afraid of  _ crashing! _ ”

“It’s okay, Celes. Flight anxiety is  _ really  _ common; it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I said, “But we won’t crash, okay? It’s all going to be fine.”

Celes gave me a curious look, “Hold on; are you trying to Sentinel me?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

She considered this, and I was relieved to see her death-grip loosen ever so slightly, “A little, I guess. Why don’t you keep tryin-”

Her sentence ended in a sudden shriek, as with a final, buttock-clenching drop and a loud ‘bang’, the helicopter’s skids slammed hard into the tarmac.

“See? Piece of cake,” I said, “I  _ told _ you it would be okay.”

“ _ Okay _ ? I feel like I’ve just lost five years of my life!” Celes pressed her lips tightly together, “Change of plan. We’re taking the train to Doma.”

“There, um,  _ isn’t  _ a train to Doma.”

“I’ll lay the track myself!” she said, “It’ll be worth it!”

“It’s about five thousand miles away, though,” I pointed out, “Over water.”

“It’ll  _ still  _ be worth it.”

“Hah,” I said, and smiled, “I’m sorry, Celes, I really had no idea that you were afraid of flying-”

“-crashing-”

“-well, crashing as a  _ part _ of flying,” I said, “But... there’s stuff you can take for it. Just say the word, and I’ll be happy to get you some. No-one would have to know.”

“Thanks, Firma,” she smiled gratefully, “But right now I think we have bigger problems. ”

“Agreed. Just...keep it in mind.”

As the rotors slowly wound down, I unclipped my harness and pulled on the compression socks. After a moment or two of stretching out the kinks, I stepped over to the cabin door and unclipped it carefully, only for a gust of wind to yank it right out of my hands and pull it all the way open, revealing a dark, unfriendly scene. Although the moon was still shining brightly in the sky, about all it was illuminating was a lot of very dark, threatening storm clouds hovering ominously to the north. Lightning flickered occasionally through the inky mass, and although it wasn’t raining yet the tang in the air made it very clear that an umbrella would be a prudent short-term investment.

The last time I had come to Tzenia International Airport, it had been a modern, bustling centre of commerce that enjoyed regular air traffic from all over the Southern Continent. Wherever we’d landed...clearly  _ wasn’t _ . It was old, desolate, and completely devoid of human life. The airstrip itself consisted of a single strip of tarmac with a single large, rusty hangar at the nearest end. Civilian aircraft of all sizes and configurations lined the runway in a riot of colour. While some were covered in billowing tarpaulins, most were left exposed to the harsh conditions and were now looking somewhat the worse for wear.

The cockpit door banged open, and then slammed shut just as quickly in another gust of wind. A moment later, Anceleti emerged instead from the cabin and jumped lightly to the ground, rubbing ruefully at his forehead.

“Windy, isn’t it,” he remarked, “Bet you’re glad I remembered my jacket.”

“Definitely!” I agreed, “Do you, um, want it back?”

“No - no!” he replied quickly as I went to take it off, “Not until we find you something that isn’t just medical scrubs.”

“The General found me some socks,” I said, and held up my foot for inspection, “So we’re making progress!”

“Indeed,” said Celes, “We’re building you a wardrobe out of emergency equipment, military wear, and my hand-me-downs. We may just be looking at next year’s fashion line.”

“It’s...very  _ avant garde _ , sir,” said Anceleti, rather generously, “Might I suggest that you take shelter in the hangar? Jade and I will take a look around and see if there’s anything we can requisition for our flight to Doma.”

“There’s nothing here that we can use, though,” I said, “Not even another Bluebird- no, wait. I see one.”

“Two, actually,” Celes said.

“We may have to walk to the airport proper,” said Jade, “This is where the Emperor of Tzenia Airport sends you if he’s feeling passive aggressive. Perfect for us, though; antagonising him clearly did the trick.”

“And to think you doubted me,” said Anceleti. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out some loose change, “Anyway, we’ll have a quick poke around. Firma, can you grab me a coffee and...Jade?”

“A... _ tea _ , I suppose,” she said, with some distaste, “I swear, when this is over I’m going to sue Kefka for burning up my stash.”

“We’ll see you shortly, anyway,” said Anceleti, and nodded at the General, “Sir.”

After a quick look around to make sure nobody had come to check out the new arrival, Celes and I quickly crossed the airstrip towards the hangar. The wind swirled and howled around us, and even with Anceleti’s jacket I could feel the cold begin to set back into my bones. The tarmac underfoot was rough and cold, and I was pretty sure that it was only the surprisingly thick soles of the compression socks that stopped my feet from being cut to ribbons.

“Are the socks helping?” Celes called, struggling to be heard over the wind.

“Lots, thanks!” I shouted back, “It’s better than Wareydon out here, though. At least this storm isn't going to freeze the balls of a brass monkey!"

"I think the phrase is 'freeze the balls 'off' a brass monkey', Firma," Celes drew her coat tight around her body, "Although I suppose you're technically correct."

“Pedant,” I muttered, and pressed on, “Sooner we get inside, the sooner we can get ourselves more coffee. I wonder if they have anything to ea- whoa!”

Celes had stopped, and I skidded to a halt just in time to avoid running into her. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked, and she pointed off into the middle distance. 

“Look at  _ that _ !” she said, “I’ve never seen one in real life before.”

“Never seen what-” I followed her finger, and my jaw dropped open, “Whoa.”

It was an airship. Not just  _ any _ airship, though. I’d seen dirigibles before; Anceleti had a book filled with them and we’d even once (somewhat halfheartedly) attempted to build a model of one out of matchsticks.  _ This _ one was clearly in a league of its own. It was sleeker, more graceful, more powerful, and despite the weathered frame there was clear evidence of modernisation. Four enormous propellers sat at the stern of the airship, and while they were impressive enough by themselves they were augmented by two large turbines, situated either side of the gasbag itself. In many places, the original wooden structure had been removed and replaced materials that, from their sheen and general appearance, put me in mind of the high-performance alloys used by the IAF. Even moored as it was, I felt an intense sensation of immense power, and I wondered momentarily what it would be like to be onboard when it was going flat-out.

“Yup,” I said, “That’ll do.”

“I’m feeling a requisitioning coming on,” agreed Celes, “But...we’ll deal with that when your superiors have finished reconnoitering. Let’s go see about those coffees.”

* * *

The interior of the large, rusty aerodrome was just as unimpressive as its exterior. It was dim and dingy, and in the air I could smell both rust and decay. Decrepit airplanes stood silently in the shadows, their canvas skin rotting off balsa bones, and as I brushed past one a timber snapped with an audible ‘ _ crack _ ’, and dust puffed into the air. I shivered.

At the far end there was a small pool of light which illuminated an old vending machine. A flickering neon light with the Tzenian word for ‘coffee’ hung just above it, while a clearly wrecked jukebox stood nearby. A scattering of simple, dusty tables and chairs completed the ensemble.

“Well! This seems familiar,” Celes remarked, and I had to agree.

“When Anceleti said that we might have to go on the run, I didn’t realise that I’d be spending so much time running in place in darkened hangars,” I looked around and shivered again, “Especially a mausoleum like this one.”

“Better than being hunted by Imperial Intelligence,” she said, and stepped up to the vending machine, “Do you think this thing even works?”

“It’s about the only thing in here that’s still in good nick,” I said, “Let’s give it a go.”

Rather surprisingly the coffee machine worked perfectly, and dispensed a trio of steaming black coffees into bland plastic cups. After getting a rather nondescript cup of tea for Jade, we took them and sat down to wait on one of the tables. We didn’t have to wait long; my XO emerged from the shadows shortly just after I’d gotten comfortable, with an expression that suggested that she was rather pleased with herself.

“Heya, kiddie,” Jade whispered, and clasped me lightly on the shoulder as she sat down, “That tea for me? Thanks.”

“Where’s the Major?” asked Celes.

“He’s just popped back to the Bluebird, sir,” she said, “He needed to check on a couple of things. Did you see the dirigible outside? It’s a beauty!”

“I’ve never seen one before,” I said, “Not in real life, I mean.”

“You wouldn’t have,” said my XO, “They’re kinda before your time. Before mine too, actually.”

“It certainly looks...different,” said Celes, “But powerful, too. Why did they die out?”

“Well...have you heard of the Gradenback disaster, sir?” Jade asked, and Celes shook her head.

“I’ve heard of it!” I said brightly.

“I  _ know _ you know about it, Cadet. I  _ told _ you about it!” she said sharply, “But since you’re so  _ obviously _ keen to show off your education, why don’t we see how well you’ve been listening?”

“You, um…you sure?”

“‘Course I am, kiddie. Floors all yours.”

“Ah...okay. Um...well,” I began, and faltered under the gaze of the two women, “Well… the Jidoorans, they came up with the dirigible. It was kind of a big thing, because it could travel long distances and carry fairly heavy payloads, while everyone else was still flying around in things like-” I looked around, and gestured at the decaying airplanes, “-well, um, these things.”

“...go on,” Jade said. She now sounded faintly amused.

“When the Empire learned about the dirigibles, they wanted to get a hold of the tech for themselves. I guess they thought it’d be safer to ship some people and things by air rather than train, ‘cause the separatists kept on blowing up the railways. So anyway, they managed to poach one of the original inventors of the new aircraft - this guy called Gradenbrack.”

“I think I see where this is going,” Celes said.

“Maybe. They got him to make them an absolutely  _ colossal  _ dirigible as a demonstration of Imperial engineering. It was...huge.”

“How long was it, Cadet?” asked Jade.

“Oh...about two hundred and fifty meters?”

“Two hundred and forty seven, actually, but I’ll let you off,” she took a sip of her tea, and shuddered, “This is  _ terrible _ . Even by hangar vending machine standards.”

“So what went wrong?” said Celes, “The back-story was absolutely wonderful, but what actually  _ happened? _ ”

“It...um, it caught fire during landing,” I said, “Although nobody really knows why.”

“There’s a number of theories on that,” there was a shift in the shadows, and we turned as one to see Anceleti emerge into the light, “It was filled with hydrogen, powered by diesel, and waterproofed with a combination of rocket fuel and powdered aluminium. It was trying to land during a storm, too. Take your pick.”

“Ah, sir,” Jade said, “The cadet here was just... _ regaling _ us with the tale of the Gradenbrack disaster.”

“I heard,” he chuckled, “‘Turns out he was paying attention after all.”

“I know. Will wonders never cease?”

“I’m not finished yet, though!” I protested, “‘Cause the actual disaster  _ wasn’t _ the burning airship. It was because there was a huge crowd of people nearby watching it come in. When it went up in flames they all stampeded, and almost seventy people were crushed to death.”

“And Gradenbrack?” asked Celes.

“He went down in the ‘ship,” I said, “And as far as the Empire was concerned that was it for the dirigible. They went back to developing fixed and rotary-wing aircraft, but you’ll always find people who’re in love with the older tech.”

"I heard there was another dirigible crash about three years ago, actually," Jade said soberly, "Someone managed to laminate themselves to the side of a mountain up near Kohlingen. ‘Locals didn't even find the body of the pilot."

“Up near Kohlingen? Wouldn’t expect them to. It’s probably a minor miracle they were able to reach the ship itself,” Anceleti turned to Celes, “Sir? We... _ may _ have a problem.”

A flicker of alarm crossed Celes’ face, “What is it, Major?”

“Our compatriots are looking for us,” he said gravely, “Or rather, they’re looking for  _ you _ , sir. When I got back to the Bluebird I found that it had a stored message on the radio. Priority Black.”

“Oh, wow,” I murmured.

“Indeed,” Celes agreed, “What did it say, Major?”

“That the Emperor ‘requests’ that you present yourself to him, in Vector, within the next 24 hours,” said Anceleti, “That was all. PB messages are supposed to be brief.”

There was a long pause, and the Celes slammed her hand down on the table, hard.

“Damnit!” she swore, “I suppose we should have foreseen this. Kefka has the ear of the Emperor, and he probably already knows who was onboard our Bluebird.”

“The magic show would’ve been a dead giveaway,” I said, “What’re we going to do?”

“What  _ can _ we do?” said Celes, frustratedly, “I have to acknowledge that message and then report to the Emperor. Leo might not like Kefka, but if I disobey a direct order from the Emperor the only thing he’ll do is clap me in irons, along with everyone sitting at this table.”

“There’s no outrunning a PB message, either,” said Anceleti, “They’re broadcast to every military radio in the Empire, and it’ll be repeated every thirty minutes until acknowledged. I would imagine that there would be...questions asked if that acknowledgement were delayed.”

“Not to mention that everyone working for the Empire will have their eyes peeled for you, sir,” added Jade, “I guess our attempts to hide where we were going were ultimately always going to fail.”

“But they didn’t,” said Celes, “This broadcast is proof of that. They know we’re alive, but they don’t know where we’ve gone. That’s why they’ve sent out a PB instead of just kicking in that door over-”

At that exact moment the hangar door banged open, admitting a tall, slender individual who took a moment to shake out his coat before striding purposefully in our direction. 

“Who’s he?” I murmured.

“Not sure, kiddie,” said Jade, grimly, “Be quiet and try to act natural. Don’t draw attention to us.”

As a group, we turned back to the table and looked studiously at our drinks as the man drew closer, his footsteps echoing ominously in the darkened hall. Anceleti began whistling tonelessly, and leaned back nonchalantly on his chair as our guest emerged from the darkness into the pool of light.

“Alright there?” greeted the Major, casually, “How’s it going out there?”

The man paused, and I looked up to see a timeless, rather nondescript face framed by a mop of long, snow-white hair that had been carefully cut and styled. He clearly had an eye for clothing, too; his black trench coat looked rugged, but was also well-tailored, and lined with gold that sparkled brightly in the harsh lighting. Underneath that was a similarly sharp suit, cut from black cloth with a similar golden weave. A white cravat, and a pair of shining leather shoes completed the ensemble.

"Are you looking at something?" he asked, catching my gaze. Frustratingly, his accent was  _ also _ hard to place, but I had absolutely no trouble in picking up the challenging tone.

"I, um...was just admiring your coat," I said weakly, “It’s very...nice.”

"That's high praise," the man said blandly, "Especially coming from a man wearing a set of scrubs and a bright yellow hat."

Anceleti blinked in surprise, "That accent...you're from Jidoor? You don't look like it."

'Looks can be deceiving," our new friend snorted, "Your fashionable friend here has a Vectoran accent, but he doesn’t quite look the part.”

“Leave the kiddie alone, mate,” said Jade, coldly. The man stared at Jade for an uncomfortably long time before a sudden smile flashed across his face.

“Where are my manners?” he said, “Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Setzer Gabbiani. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“Setzer?  _ The _ Setzer?” my XO looked taken aback, “The black-jack playing, world-travelling, casino-dwelling free spirit?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, then,” he smiled thinly.

“So that’s  _ your _ dirigible outside?” she said, and Celes gave her a sharp look, “It’s...stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.”

“It’s one of a kind,” he said sadly, “At least it is now. Its sister ship went down three years ago.”

“Yes. We were just talking about that,” said Jade, “You...have my condolences.”

“You’re too kind,” he said, and sighed, “There's never been a dirigible the equal of the Falcon, and there probably never will be.”

“There’s no chance of rebuilding it?” I asked quietly.

"No. The schematics went down with the ship, along with its architect. She always was far too protective of her designs," Setzer paused for a moment, and turned to Anceleti, "In answer to your earlier question, sir, the winds are starting to pick up quite strongly. I merely wished to get a cup of tea before departing.”

“Why?” asked Jade, “It’s  _ terrible _ !”

“Exactly,” he said, and smiled that thin smile again, “There’s nothing quite like it.”

With that he turned and headed over towards the old vending machine, fishing some loose change out of his pocket as he did so. Jade turned back to the table, her eyes wide with excitement.

“ _ That’s _ Setzer Gabbiani?” she said, “He’s a  _ legend _ !”

“For his airship?” I asked.

“For his parties!” she said, “That ship of his is a flying casino! He throws the biggest do’s, with the highest stakes, the finest food, the best drinks, the, um, prettiest dancing girls…”

“Is that so?” Anceleti’s eyebrow went up, and Jade shrank back a little in her seat.

“...which is what I’ve heard, sir.”

“Is  _ that _ so,” he said, and smiled wryly, “Probably for the best, though; from what I’ve heard, you should probably stick to chess.”

“Difficult to find good players on the base, sir,” she said, “I tried teaching the kiddie here, and then I taught his sister and unleashed a monster.”

“She’s challenged me to a game once or twice. Never had the time to take her up on that offer,” Celes said absently. She was staring thoughtfully towards the gambler, who was still attempting to get the vending machine to dispense a drink, “Hmm. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Only occasionally,” I said, and followed her gaze, “But if you’re thinking that we requisition his ship…”

“No,” she said firmly, “He’s not an Imperial citizen, and after that PB I can’t risk it. Maybe we don’t have to take that route, though...maybe we can book passage for you.”

“For me?” I blinked, “ _ Only _ me?”

“Do you see another option?” she said, “We can’t very well take you back to Vector, and if we leave you here it’ll only be a matter of time until you’re caught.”

“I can stay with him, sir,” Jade offered quickly, “Between us, I’m sure-”

“Sorry, but both of you have to come with me,” said Celes firmly, “I need to present myself to the Emperor, but to do that I need an aircrew.”

“We’re at an airbase, sir, and you’re the subject of a PB notice,” Jade pointed out, “I’m sure we can find an alternative aircrew!”

“Which would then raise the question of how I  _ reached _ Tzen in the first place. I can’t fly a Bluebird,” said Celes, “If you just vanish off the face of the earth they’ll either declare you dead or a deserter, and we can forget about getting close to General Leo.”

“I...suppose that’s true,” she conceded grudgingly.

“And besides...you and Anceleti have stuck your necks out further than anyone could’ve asked you to,” Celes went on, “You’ve risked treason  _ and  _ your lives to keep our Mage Knights safe. If I can keep you safe by declaring you part of my retinue, following  _ my _ orders, then I feel that that’s the very least I can do.”

“That’s very...noble of you, sir,” said Anceleti, “It also simplifies the story somewhat. We can just declare that we met prior to going to identify the bodies of the Branfords, but then the Titan attacked and forced us to evacuate. The rest is just as we’ve said before; contacting General Leo for advice and support.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, fine,” said my XO, “But may I be blunt, sir?”

“I wasn’t aware there was another option.”

Jade leaned in conspiratorially, “Setzer is a shark. Worse, he swims with bigger, nastier sharks. The instant he clocks that there’s more money to be made from selling the Cadet back to the Empire or to another group, he’ll do it. How can we take that risk?”

“We’re all taking risks, sir,” I said, “Honestly, it  _ kind _ feels like I’m getting off easy.”

“Tell me that when you’re being ransomed back to Kefka by a crime syndicate, kiddie!” she said harshly, “You’re not ready for this!”

Celes exchanged a quick look with Anceleti, “Actually, I don’t think he’s the one that’s not ready. I know it’s hard, but...please don’t make me order you to accompany me.”

The XO’s jaw worked furiously for just a moment, and then her shoulders slumped and she sighed, “Fine. I’ll trust your judgement, sir.”

“Trust your Cadet,” said Celes, “He’ll come through.”

“You’d better, kiddie,” Jade said, turning to me, “And that  _ is _ an order.”

“Yes sir,” I said, “I’m not to get myself hogtied and sold as meat or medicine. You realise, though, that this is entirely dependent on him actually  _ agreeing _ to-”

"Setzer?" ignoring me, Celes summoned the loitering gambler back over to the table, "Could we have a word?”

The gambler, who until that moment had been staring doggedly at the apparently disloyal vending machine, looked around curiously.

“Regarding what?”

“I wanted to learn more about that airship of yours,” she said, “How is it holding up?”

"The Blackjack?" Setzer actually smiled properly this time, "It's still ticking over; if you're interested in that sort of thing."

"We…may be," Celes said, in a rather strange tone of voice that immediately made me suspicious, "Is it a fast ship?"

"Fast ship?" the airship pilot laughed shortly, "It made the Kohlingen run in twelve minutes!"

"Would you care to put that in real terms? That means nothing to me."

"The Blackjack's outrun Imperial patrols," Setzer spread his hands, "I'm not talking about the regional squadrons, mind you; I mean the elite flights around Vector. She's fast enough for me, my lady."

"Just wait until they arm the Wriqurix," I muttered to Anceleti, who gave me an amused look, "He'll be in for a nasty shock soon, I'll bet."

"What was that?" Setzer gave me a suspicious look.

"Absolutely nothing," I said, with an innocent, earnest smile.

The gambler stared at me long and hard, but eventually shook his head and returned his attention to Celes, "Might I ask you why you're so interested in my ship?"

“Well...We may have a job for you."

"Is that so?" the gambler's eyebrows went up, "Well, I'm afraid that I no longer take haulage jobs. Changed fortunes, you understand."

"Who said anything about haulage?" Celes looked around the table, "Do any of us look like we have enough worldly possessions to require the services of an airship?"

"You have a point," Setzer conceded, "However, the answer's still no. I have as much money as I possibly need; what reason would I possibly have to take you up on your generous offer?"

"Because it interests you," Anceleti settled back, "Let's face it; I doubt we have enough money between us to be able to simply  _ buy _ your services, right?"

"You're probably correct," Setzer smiled wryly, "The Empire's made me a rich man, after all."

"So, let me ask you a question," the Major steeped his fingers and leaned back, "How much longer do you think that's going to last?"

"Excuse me?" Setzer blinked.

"It's a simple question, Mr. Gabbiani," Anceleti smiled humourlessly, "I know that the Empire doesn't really like a privateer like you operating in its airspace – I mean, heck, I can't even count the number of my friends who've been ordered to splash you in the past. Looking at the damage on your ship outside, I'd say they're getting closer too."

"Your point being?"

"My point is that despite the ever-present risk of being chewed to pieces by an IAF squadron, you keep on coming back. Why? Is this where the money is?"

Setzer suddenly looked a little uncomfortable, "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It isn't," Anceleti replied bluntly, "But you see, my unfashionable protégée here has just reminded me of something. The Blackjack may be capable of outrunning the current generation of Imperial fighter aircraft, but here's the thing," he leaned in, a nasty smile on his face, "The IAF is upgrading. There's a new generation of fighters on the horizon. Supersonic fighters, no less, and you can be sure as damn that when those airplanes get up in the sky you're going to be the first person they come after."

“Is that so?” the white-hair man gave him a chilly look, "I don't know why I'm standing here listening to this."

"Because you're interested in information, right?" Anceleti shrugged, "We can't  _ buy _ your services, but I can tell you that refusing to help us out here and now is going to result in you getting yourself grounded for certain."

"Plenty of other sky in the world," the gambler smiled tightly, "It may not be, as you say, 'where the money is', but to be honest I have quite enough of that already," with this, Setzer turned and began to walk away, "I'm afraid that I will have to take my leave before this storm hits, so I believe I will bid you all safe journeys, wherever it is you're planning to go."

"Damn! He's leaving!" I gave Anceleti a quick look, "I think you scared him off."

"Well, I'm not about to give up," Celes stood up, "Come on, Firma, he just needs a little more prodding."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows, "You want me to-"

"-stay quiet and look like a kicked puppy, yes," the General replied shortly, "I'm sure you can handle that."

The ever-encroaching storm was still inching closer to the airport when we emerged from the dingy little café, and some very light drizzle was beginning to fall from the clouds scudding ahead of the large, crackling black mass.

"Let's get this over with before this storm  _ really _ gets going," I muttered, "I can't believe even Anceleti would want to risk taking off in this kind of weather."

"Indeed," Celes agreed, and raised her voice to direct the retreating back of Setzer, "Mr. Gabbiani! We haven’t finished!”

"I believe we've both said enough," Setzer replied, "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"I don't think you're really listening," Celes commented, "You know what the Major said is true, Mr. Gabbian-"

Setzer wheeled around to face us, "I've been listening a lot closer than you think, General Chere," he said sharply, and we both caught the slight flicker in her expression, "And I find it  _ very _ curious that the Empire's newest general is fraternizing with a Major, his second, and... _ this _ individual-” he waved his hand indistinctly at me, “-in a run down hangar wrong side of Tzenia Airport, especially so shortly after that debacle in Maranda. Did you know that there’s a Priority Black out for you? I’m sure that there would be some people who would be  _ very _ interested to hear where you’ve been hiding.”

"Are you blackmailing me?" Celes' expression remained bland, but I caught the slight shift in her stance.

"Only if you keep on pestering me, my lady," Setzer's smile returned, "Allow me reiterate; I am nobody's carrier. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"I don't think so," Celes said calmly, "The only way you're going anywhere is if you're taking him-" she indicated me with a jerk of her head, "-with you."

Setzer's eyebrows went up, "Are you blackmailing me, my lady?"

"No, I'm not," she replied sharply, "I'm directly threatening you, because in all honesty I'm getting quite tired of bandying around sweet nothings while there's more important things at stake!"

"Ah, would you be talking about the things that are important to you, or to me-"

"I'm talking about the things that are important to all of us, you selfish bastard!" Celes snarled, "Maybe these people you were talking about are going deaf in their old age, but  _ surely _ you're aware that there are very dangerous elements within the Empire that are going to end up dragging everyone into who knows what if they aren't stopped!"

"There have  _ always _ been fringe elements in the Empire, my lady," Setzer smiled patronisingly, "I hardly think that now is the time to start worrying about them-"

"Have you heard about the terrorist attack on IAF Wareydon yet?" Celes said suddenly.

"You mean the bomb blast that killed the Mage Knights?" Setzer inclined his head, "Of course."

"Do you know who carried out the attack?"

"Nobody is certain yet, but I've heard a few rumors that it was probably a Returner attack," the gambler snorted, "It'll be bad news for Figaro if it is."

"And if I told you it wasn't Returners?" Celes asked.

"No doubt you're about to suggest that these 'dangerous elements' carried out the attack to curry favour amongst moderates with the eventual aim of initiating hostile relations against Figaro," Setzer snorted, "I'm sorry, General, but I’m not one for conspiracy theories."

“So you want  _ proof _ , do you?” said Celes. She gave me a calculating look, and then quickly cast her gaze around the airfield.

“If you have it,” he said, “Of course, if you had it, I’m sure you would have already-”

In a flash, the General reached out and whipped the hat clean off my head, and Setzer’s eyes went wide as he caught sight of my unwashed, matted, and very, very emerald green hair.

“-have some…proof,” he finished, rather lamely, “Well, I suppose that explains the bright yellow hat.”

“Exactly,” she said, and handed back the hat, “Sorry, Firma.”

“Let it never be said that you don’t have a flair for the dramatic, eh?” I said, and crammed it back on my head.

“So you’re telling me that  _ this _ person is one of the Mage Knights?” he said, “How do  _ I _ know he hasn’t just dyed his hair?”

“Check my eyes,” I said. I stepped towards him and he stepped back apprehensively, “Oh, come  _ on _ . I’m not going to bite. Now  _ look _ .”

We stared at each other for a long moment, and I did my best not to blink as his gaze bored its way into my eye sockets.

“That’s...very strange,” he said, “Does it hurt?”

“I can’t even see it,” I replied, “Most of the time I forget it's even happening.”

"So…” Setzer said, “I assume then that it wasn't  _ your  _ body that they recovered from the rubble."

"Obviously not."

"Setzer, listen," Celes said forcefully, "The Empire is lying. It was  _ not _ Returner forces that tried to kill Firma and his sister; it was a unit under the command of General Kefka who were trying to mask what was  _ actually _ going on. I  _ know  _ it sounds like an insane conspiracy theory, but it's true."

There was a long silence, and Setzer continued to survey me with a long, careful stare that I didn't care for one bit.

"One thing troubles me," he said finally, "If this  _ is _ Firmament, I find it hard to believe that a general in the Empire would be actually  _ assisting _ his escape from the homeland. Surely you must know how much damage his defection will do to the image of the Empire."

"Yes, I know."

"I have no doubt that Imperial Intelligence will link his disappearance to you very, very quickly, too," Setzer continued, "You could end up facing a firing squad. If you're lucky."

"Yes," this time, Celes appeared to steel herself, "I know."

"So why? What do you possibly have to gain from this situation?"

"Do I have to gain anything?" Celes replied sharply, "The Empire has half a billion people living in it; Figaro has about the same. Do you know how many of those people are going to die if Kefka manages to manipulate us all into an intercontinental war?" her eyes glittered dangerously, "I may have failed to prevent his men killing all those Marandese people, but you can be  _ damn _ certain that I'm not about to let him get loose on the rest of the world!"

There was another long silence.

"I see," Setzer said slowly, "And you genuinely believe that one Mage Knight is going to be enough to stop your war?"

"I believe in him," she said confidently, and I blinked in surprise at the rare compliment, "Besides, it's not just Firma; it's all that political capital that comes with the Mage Knights. His sudden departure might just blunt any plans long enough for me to get in contact with General Leo. Hopefully he'll be able to make everybody see sense."

"That's quite a gamble, my lady," Setzer paused for a moment, and nodded, "Fine, I'll throw my chip into your pile – but only just this once. After that, Mage Knight, it's entirely up to you."

  
  



	9. Above the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'd like to thank my beta reader VallasRevas for their incredibly detailed and insightful remarks, comments, and criticisms.

So...that all worked out well, right? Very neat, very tidy. Very lucky, too. Thinking about it, I’m genuinely not sure _what_ we would have done if we _hadn’t_ convinced Setzer, but the ramifications could’ve been pretty severe. In fact, I might even go as far as to say that what Celes did has to be one of the most historically important examples of ‘Someone whipping off someone else’s hat mid-conversation to win an argument’. Granted that’s not _exactly_ a packed field, but I feel it has to be worthy of _some_ kind of recognition, even if that’s only a mention in some kind of overly long, self-indulgent prattle.

The other thing that I was going to bring up was ‘chess’. It was only mentioned as an aside, but it’s pretty important for Terra and myself. Honestly, I may be one of the worst chess players in the world (if not in all time) but it ensures that we keep up fairly constant communication even though we now live half a world apart. Otherwise, our letters would probably just degenerate into meaningless rubbish about how the weather ‘continues fine’ and how the orphans in her care have found (and fallen into) yet another half-collapsed smuggler-infested tin mine. More on that later, though.

To give an indication of what kind of ‘monster’ Jade unleashed, Terra and I have played to completion over four hundred games, of which I have won...one. Our most recent one, in fact, and it isn’t because I’ve gotten better. It’s because I finally declared ‘sod _this_ ’ and roped my fiancee into helping. She, in turn, roped Celes into helping, which (in turn) led to us spending a series of tipsy evenings at our local taverna with a chess set, several books on the matter, and an ever-increasing crowd of onlookers with surprisingly strong opinions. At some point, I’m pretty sure someone started a brawl over the applicability of ‘en passant’ as a late-game move.

We beat my sister on a technicality. It might not sound like much, but when I read out Terra’s note conceding defeat, the cheers that went up were as if we’d beaten an invading country against impossible odds. I’ve called time on their help, though; this is a precious thing between my sister and myself, and I don’t want to dilute it by bringing in others. Still, now that I know she’s not invulnerable, it’s surely just a matter of time before I can get her on the ropes all by myself, right?

It’s just a matter of time.

* * *

We quickly took our leave of Setzer, with a promise to be back in five minutes so we could take off ahead of the storm. I had to say my goodbyes, after all; I’d known Celes for my entire life (or at least the bits worth remembering) and my CO and XO had been there for at _least_ a decade. Now that they were all being added to the (rapidly expanding) list of People I Might Never See Again I felt like I had to say _something_ , even if I wasn’t quite sure yet what that ‘something’ would be.

It was clear that Celes felt the same way. Even if she didn’t show it outwardly, as we walked quickly back to the hangar I could feel the tension building until the air positively _thrummed_. The silence between us became increasingly awkward as we each waited for the other to say something, but neither of us did.

My superior officers were talking quietly at the table when we returned, and Anceleti looked up at our approach.

“Did you manage to convince him, sir?” he inquired.

“Like a charm,” Celes smiled, “Although Firma’s hair did most of the heavy lifting.”

“So he knows, then,” said Jade, a little ominously, “I just hope that doesn’t come back to bite us.”

“I don’t think it will,” said Celes, “Honestly? I think he rather... _enjoyed_ the idea of thumbing his nose at the Empire.”

“I’m not _quite_ sure how I feel about that,” admitted Jade, “But...I guess it’s only a short trip, right?”

“Yeah,” Anceleti said reassuringly, and then gave me a quick look, “So you’re off, then?”

“Just came to say goodbye, sir,” I said, “Oh, and to give you back your jacket. You’ll probably need it more than me.”

“Doma’s pretty warm this time of year,” said Celes, “But it _can_ get pretty wet. You’ll want to find an umbrella.”

“Gotcha,” I said. I slipped out of Anceleti’s coat and handed it over, “So, um...I guess this is goodbye, right? Maybe I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“I think that’s optimistic,” Anceleti snorted, but then his expression turned intent, “Listen, Cadet; I know that I’ve sometimes demanded too much of you, but you’ve got good instincts. _Use_ them.”

His eyes flickered momentarily over to Celes, so quickly I wondered if anything had happened at all. Clearly he’d meant something by that, but _what_?

“And be safe,” Jade added, quietly, “I’ve spent far too long teaching you to semi-competently make tea for that to go to waste now.”

“I’ll, um, use my judgement, sir.”

“No. Use _my_ judgement,” she said firmly, “I think the whole of Maranda saw what you consider to be ‘safe’. If I hear about you taking on whole regiments I swear I’m going to-!”

“Jade,” Anceleti said, before she could properly get going, “He’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” she said, and gave me a brief smile, “You got time for a cup of coffee?”

“I…” I looked briefly at the old machine. Caffeine _was_ , admittedly, the last roadblock between me and a long coma, but… “I should probably get going. I don’t want to give him an excuse to leave without me.”

“Good point,” said Anceleti, “Good luck, Firma. You’ll probably need it.”

“And I...hope you find your sister,” said Jade. There was a subtle movement under the table, and she winced. My CO gave us both a glassy smile.

“We’d better go and check in, General - _before_ the next Priority Black message goes out,” he said bluntly, and added, “Give us twenty minutes to refuel the Bluebird and we can be on our way.”

“Very good, Major,” she said, “Just give me a moment with Firma, and I’ll be right out.”

Jade gave us an odd look, but they both left without saying anything further. In the ensuing silence, Celes gave me a complicated look and sat back on the table. Her fingers drummed restlessly, beating out an anxious staccato in the otherwise silent hangar.

“I’m sorry I can’t come with you to Doma,” she said, eventually.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I feel like I’m abandoning you.”

“You don’t have a choice, though,” I said, “Like you said, Leo isn’t going to listen to us if you’re ignoring the Emperor himself.”

“Yeah...hold on-” she fished around in her pocket and pulled out a large black object, which she handed to me, “-take this. You might need it.”

“What?” I looked at it, and then opened it up, “Your wallet? You’re giving me your wallet?”

“You'll need money to get around, Firma,” she said, “Especially since the Empire forgot to pay you this month.”

"Goddess, Celes...how much do you carry around on you?" I withdrew one of the larger notes, and held it up to the light to make sure I wasn't dreaming, "I've never seen so much money in my life! How much do you get _paid_?"

"Enough," she smiled mirthlessly, "Don’t go overboard, though. I'm going to want both my money and my hat back, so you'd better be in a position to return them to me. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, General," I paused for a moment, "'Course, if you manage to get yourself topped by Kefka or Imperial Intelligence then I'm damn well keeping it, agreed? So... don't."

“I’ll try not to,” she exhaled noisily, “Look, Firma. There’s something I want to say, and I need you to listen to me, okay?”

“Sure, Celes,” I said, “What is it?”

“Do you know what the main difference between you and Terra is?” she gave me an appraising look, “It’s not intelligence, or athletic ability, or even magical talent; it’s _confidence_. Whenever you’re sitting around selling yourself short or wondering if you’re doing the right thing, she’s already out there _doing_ it. It’s gotten her in hot water on occasion, but that’s exactly what we need right now.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” I said, “‘Cause what you’ve got is Cadet Kangaroo.”

“You see? That’s exactly what I mean!” she said, with some exasperation, “You think you’re the only person who ever makes mistakes? I just got five thousand people roasted due to my own impatience, Firma, and it’s only thanks to _you_ that that wasn’t much, much higher!”

“Me?”

“Yeah, _you_!” she said earnestly, “Yesterday, I watched ‘Cadet Kangaroo’ charge a Titan company in an unarmed spy plane and _win_. Oh, I know that you’re going to say that you didn’t save the hospital or that Terra was egging you on from the back seat, but that Titan still went down and _you_ were flying the plane. It was _your_ skill, nobody else’s, and it just shows what you’re capable of when you stop worrying and just get on with it!”

She took a long, deep breath, and seemed to calm down slightly, “Look. Terra’s always believed in you. Your superior officers were prepared to put everything on the line because of you, and _I_ believe in you. It’s time you started believing in yourself.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, “You’ve made your point.”

“I hope so,” she said, “You’ll be careful, right?”

“As careful as I can,” I said, “But I’m not the one walking into a viper’s nest. Are you...”

“I’ll be fine,” she said shortly, but the tempo of her drumming picked up _ever_ so slightly, “Don’t worry about me, and don’t think about me. Just do your job and I’ll do mine.”

“Yeah,” I said, “Well...I suppose we’d better get going, right?”

“Right.”

* * *

Celes and I emerged from the hangar together into the teeth of the oncoming storm. Jade and Anceleti were sheltering in the cabin of the Bluebird, clearly ready to take off, while Setzer was standing in the lee of the hangar with an impatient expression on his face.

“Well, be seeing you,” she said softly, and clasped me gently on the shoulder, “Good luck, _cheri_. Come home safe.”

“You too.”

She left without a backward glance, her hair swirling dramatically the ever-increasing gale. I watched her go, sadly, and then turned towards the gambler. From this point on, I was alone.

“Come on, Mage Knight. Time’s wasting!” Setzer said, and tapped his watch, “What on earth took you so long?”

“I’m sorry, I was saying goodbye,” I said, and watched as Celes, Anceleti, and Jade clambered back aboard the little Bluebird, “Not sure if I’m going to be seeing any of them again.”

The gambler followed my gaze and seemed to relent a little, “Makes sense. It’s a risky thing you’re all doing here. Ain’t many who’d go up against the Empire like this.”

“‘Don’t really have a choice.”

“Suppose not,” he said, “You got everything with you?”

“‘Fraid so,” I said, and looked down at my motley collection of clothing, “I guess we’d better get going.”

“Definitely,” he said, and gestured to me to follow him, “Of course, you haven’t told me where you actually want to _go_. I agreed to take you on one trip, so wherever it is we’re going you’d better make sure there’s passage home.”

“Well, I-” I stopped. Celes _had_ ordered me to Doma, but then... “I’m...actually not sure yet. North, though. Definitely off the Southern Continent.”

The gambler gave me an amused look, “You’re goin’ up against Kefka and his group, and you don’t even have a _plan_? I’m liking this gamble more and more.”

“Oh - I have a plan!” I objected, “I... _definitely_ have a plan. I think.”

“Well, you’d better decide where we’re going before we clear Tzenia airspace. ‘Else we’re going to Jidoor.”

I trailed along behind him, silently, while I considered my options. Celes had ordered me to go to Doma, sure, but _why_? From her reaction, it seemed to be as much, if not more, about keeping me close and _not_ letting me go to Narshe than anything else. Now that she was gone, though, Doma was starting to seem extremely risky. My chances of getting close to General Leo were slim to none; he was guarded by the best the Empire had to offer, and it didn’t take a genius to realise that the chances of a ‘dead’ Mage Knight getting an audience with him without being fricasseed were zero. At best I’d just be putting myself right back in the hands of Imperial Intelligence, and I had no doubt that Kefka would be able to say _something_ to wriggle off the hook while I ended up either enslaved or actually dead for real. Did Celes know something I didn’t? The answer to that was almost certainly ‘yes’, but without knowing what it was I didn’t know I couldn’t really act based on information I didn’t have.

Also, I was beginning to get a headache.

At some point in my musings, it occurred to me that Setzer had come to a sudden halt and was digging around in his pockets. Looking closer, I realised that there was a hairline seam cut into the gondola, almost completely invisible to the naked eye, and as I followed it I realised that it was actually part of a curved door cut almost seamlessly into the hull.

“Clever,” I said, and Setzer nodded as he produced a long, slim card which he pressed on the hull directly next to the door. There was a quiet ‘beep’, and then the door swung outwards and down on two large, well-oiled pistons, revealing a set of steps that led up and inside.

“After you, Mage Knight,” he said, and gestured grandly up the stairs.

“Firmament is fine,” I replied shortly, as I headed inside, “Or Firma, if you’d like.”

I followed the stairs up to a rather unimpressive wooden hallway with equally unimpressive doors along its length. At the far end, however, the corridor widened and the wooden floor gave way to a small square of red, shag-pile carpeting. A pair of ivory-white doors with golden handles gleamed in the dim light, suggesting some rather grander areas beyond.

“Firma it is, then,” said the gambler. There was a dull thud, and the hull reverberated as the door clunked shut behind him, “I know a couple of Firmas. Good Sentinel name.”

“My CO’s a ‘Firma’ too, actually; his granddad was a Sentinel,” I said, “I guess the idea of a shield holding up the entire sky was just too good an image to pass up.”

“Mmm,” he shrugged and headed off down the corridor, “So you can do magic? What’s that like?”

“Normal. At least to me,” I shrugged, “Until I was six, I thought _everyone_ could do magic and the grownups were just hiding it from us.”

“That must’ve been a surprise,” he said, “You got any good tricks to show me?”

“I don’t normally do ‘tricks’. I’m not a performing seal!”

“And I don’t normally ferry fugitives around the globe,” Setzer said, and folded his arms, “Today is clearly a day for trying new things.”

“Okay, fine!” I said, and gave the wood a cautious look, “I don’t want to accidentally start a fire, but...there _is_ one I could do. Give me your hands.”

“...why?”

“Because I need your hands?” I said, “Setzer, if I wanted to incinerate you I’d have done it already. Besides, I thought you liked taking risks.”

Setzer considered this for a moment, and then grinned and held out his hands, “Hah. I see you’re starting to get the measure of me.”

I took his hands and stared deep into his eyes. Almost immediately, I could feel his body as if it was my own, and every little ache, niggle and twinge poured into my mind. Some of them were new; red, sharp and angry, and others were older, diffuse, and felt...strangely blue. There were a lot of them, too; old injuries and scar tissue criss-crossed his body, and if I was being honest I was kind of surprised he’d held together _this_ long.

“Crikey,” I said, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you.”

“Hazards of the trade,” he said, blandly.

“Including…” I focused on a couple of the more unusual injuries, “...being impaled in the kidney? No, stabbed; it feels like a stiletto blade. You’ve been shot twice, too, and...they couldn’t get the bullet out the second time.”

“Nice try, but you could’ve read about those,” he challenged, “As your boss said, the Empire’s come gunning for me before.”

“Why would I waste my time reading up about you- oh, you know what? Never mind; just hold still.”

I focused my energies at his torso, and the dim lighting became suffused with a soft, blue-gold glow as they got to work. The gambler gasped and jerked away, but I held his hands in an iron grip and maintained my gaze as his injuries, old and new, slowly dissolved under gentle streams of magic and faded from my mind. From somewhere by our feet there was a rattle like a coin hitting the floor, and then silence.

“There you go,” I said, and gave him a bright smile, “Feeling better?”

“I...you…” his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he finally got it under control, “What did you _do?_ ”

“Cleaned out all those injuries you’ve picked up over the years,” I said plainly, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Letting go of his hands, I stooped to pick up the bloodied bullet and held it up to the light, “...amongst other things. Looks like a twenty-two, if I’m any judge.”

“Gods,” he said, and gave his back an experimental twist, “You’re right. I _do_ feel better.”

“I’d hope so. Is that enough of a ‘new thing’ for you?”

“We’ll see,” although he was clearly impressed, Setzer was _just_ as clearly not the sort to give ground if he didn’t have to, “I’m curious, though. There’s a lot of very rich people who would _love_ to have someone like you on their staff. Why waste your time with the Sentinels?”

“Because it _isn’t_ a waste of my time?”

“You could be a millionaire before you’re thirty, kid.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be a millionaire,” I said tartly, “I _like_ being a Sentinel. I like...feeling like I’m helping people, and if that means that I’m never going to own my own mansion then that’s fine. At least I’ll be able to look at myself in the mirror each morning.”

“Spoken like a true believer,” Setzer grinned wryly, “They’ve really gotten their hooks into you, haven’t they.”

“Says the compulsive gambler with a history of violent injuries,” I said, and dropped the bullet into his open palm with a pointed look, “I don’t see _you_ settling down with a huge pile of cash.”

“For me, this _is_ settling down,” he said, “As for that huge pile of cash? Well, just walk this way.”

We walked down the corridor to the grand ivory doors at the far end, and with a small grin he pushed them open.

“Are you _seriously_ telling me that you have a huge pile of- oh,” I stopped, as I caught sight of the room beyond, “Bugger _me_.”

The main gambling hall of the Blackjack was the clearly the reason why it had earned the reputation that it had. It was huge, much bigger than I’d expected considering the size of the airship, and had a dark, smoky atmosphere that felt glamorous and glitzy, but also seedy and dangerous at the same time. Light sparkled from two large, elaborate chandeliers overhead and glimmered on the finely polished wood of the gambling tables. Blackjack, craps, and kino tables all stood in long, ordered lines, while at the far end of the hall three poker tables took pride of place. A grand, curtained stage running the length of the left-hand wall completed the room.

“Wow,” I said, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end as we stepped out onto the thick, comfortable carpet. Even empty the room had a sensual, electric hum to it, and I wondered what it would be like with a party in full swing, “Okay, you weren’t kidding.”

Setzer grinned. Clearly he’d seen this kind of reaction before, “You gamble, kid?”

“Only with my life, it seems,” I took off Celes’ hat and ran my fingers through my hair, “No. I’m _really_ bad at gambling. Shockingly bad, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever actually won _anything_.”

“Not even a round of roulette?”

“Not even that,” I said, “I even put chips on red _and_ black once. I knew I wasn’t going to win anything, but I just wanted my number to come up! No luck.”

“Landed on zero?”

“The ball flew out of the roulette wheel and landed in someone’s drink. Started a fight, actually. After that I figured my money was better spent on coffee.”

“It’s certainly not for everyone,” Setzer agreed, “But I’m surprised. You ain’t the kind of person I’d expect to see in a casino.”

“We used to have base social events,” I shrugged, “They let us drink, too, from time to time.”

“They let you Mage Knights get drunk?”

“Mage Knights don’t _get_ drunk. Not easily,” I said, and added, “It’s very frustrating.”

“More magic?”

“Sorta,” I said, “But I don’t get it; why does the Empire want to have you killed because of _this_? It’s not like gambling’s illegal.”

“Well…” Setzer began walking between the gambling tables. Almost absently, he pulled out a cloth and polished a small scuff to a mirror shine, “I hold a lot of parties, right? Lots of important people...lords, ladies, ambassadors... _generals._ They’re _already_ convinced that they’re the smartest person in the room, and after a couple of drinks and some encouragement from a well-paid, pretty young woman? Well-” he spread his hands, “-it’s a challenge to _stop_ them gambling.”

“I’m sure you try your _very_ hardest, though.”

“Airships are expensive, kid,” he said, airily, “But let’s say you’re an ambassador or general who wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and a million gil debt that you can’t pay off? What do you do then? How do you make it go away?”

“I’d...oh, _right_ ,” I exhaled, “That’s awful!”

“Yeah. Nothing like losing big at gambling to turn someone into a pious moral guardian. Next thing you know, I’m declared an outlaw, a gun runner, drug smuggler...you name it, and the IAF is howling for my blood. Now, I’m not saying I _haven’t_ done those things-” he added, “...but that was a long time ago! I’ve gone straight; my tables are fair, my staff are the best, and everyone knows the odds before they sit down to play. It’s not my fault if they reckon that they’re smarter than they actually are.”

“But _you_ are, of course,” I said, “You know that if you keep playing with fire you’ll eventually get burned, right? One day some hotshot’s gonna make his name being the guy who finally took down the Blackjack.”

“That’s the nature of the game, kid,” he said, “Eventually, the house always wins.”

I fixed him with a long, deeply unimpressed stare, “That was _unbelievably_ corny.”

“So _anyway_ ,” he said, and coughed into his hand, “Have you decided where you want me to take you yet?”

“I...no,” I said, “I know where I’m _meant_ to go, but I’m not sure if it’s the right choice…”

“Well, from what your gorgeous General friend was saying it sounds like you might be the one thing standing between us and a major war...so no pressure,” he paused, “By the way; is she single?”

“Aggressively.”

“Yeah, she had that air about her,” he said, and sighed, “Well, let me show you to your cabin. You’ve got a couple hours before you absolutely _have_ to choose, and _I_ need to get this bird in the air. C’mon.”

Setzer led me out of the main hall down a smaller and rather less grand side corridor. After some internal deliberation, he picked out a door that seemed entirely identical to its compatriots and swung it open. The room beyond was a simple, but well-upholstered cabin; two single beds with freshly-pressed white sheets took up most of the room and a small writing desk was bolted to the far wall. A small porthole provided a view of the yellow, stormy skies outside, but little else.

“Wow,” I said, and stepped inside, “It’s just like our room back at base.”

“Our?” Setzer flicked a switch, and two electric lamps hummed to life.

“Oh, mine and my sister’s.”

“You shared a room with your sister?” Setzer gave me an odd look, “That’s...unusual.”

“Nobody else would!” I protested, “Thanks to some rumour everyone else thought they were one nightmare away from being flash-fried. It was...tough. I think we got on each other’s nerves as often as we got along.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he said, “Anyway. Make yourself comfortable and work out what you want to do. Get some sleep, too. It’ll take about five hours for us to get out of Tzenian airspace, and I’ve got things I need to do _besides_ take care of you.”

“You’re...you’re right-whoa!” I sat down on one of the beds and was almost swallowed whole by the mattress, “What in the world?”

“Oh, right,” Setzer snickered, as I floundered amongst the duvet and pillows, “The Empire isn’t big on creature comforts for its troops, is it.”

“Not at _all_ ,” I said. Maybe if I flopped over, I could catch my foot on the side of the bed... “My mattress was basically hewn from granite.”

“Count yourself lucky, then,” he said, “That’s one of the most luxurious mattresses money can buy. I’ll leave you to get acquainted.”

“Wait! Hold on!” I objected, and held my hand up like a drowning man, “Can you at least get me out of here?”

Setzer laughed, “You’re a Mage Knight. Magic yourself out.”

The door clicked shut, leaving me to the mercy of the apparently bottomless mattress. I struggled gamely for a few more moments, cursing inventively, and then finally gave up and let the bed claim me. As I slowly sank into its feathery embrace I had to concede that it wasn’t actually all _that_ bad. A little _too_ soft, maybe, but it was warm and comfortable, and compared to the places I’d slept over the past couple of days it was positively heavenly. The last dregs of adrenalines slowly drained away, and I suddenly realised just _how_ exhausted I was. My whole body felt heavy and leaden, and a thick fog was descending on my mind, chasing away coherent thought and inviting me to just drift off...

As I dozed, I heard a distant ‘thunk’ and then a whine of turbines as the airship engaged its mighty engines. The noise built steadily to a comforting background hum, and there was a feeling of motion as the airship took off and smoothly rode the currents ahead of the storm. With a quiet creaking of wood, the gondola began to swing gently and with an inward smile I settled down to sleep.

Between my warm, safe cocoon, the white noise of the engines, and the gentle rocking of the airship, it wasn’t long in coming.

* * *

Just a quick one here. In fairness to Setzer, it should be said that he is _far_ from the only person who’s suggested that I look into monetising my abilities, and you know what? They’re right; providing magical treatments exclusively to the mega-rich would be _incredibly_ lucrative, particularly considering that I’ve got a monopoly. Forget being a millionaire; some of the sums that people used to offer could see me well on my way to being a _billionaire_ , and there’s always a bunch of slimy, manipulative questions too. Don’t I _want_ to give my fiancee the life she’s always wanted? How about my sister? That lighthouse of hers could do with some fixing up and keeping her wards clothed, fed, educated, and away from ancient burial mounds can’t be cheap! Why not make all your loved one’s lives easier and just sign on the dotted line?

The trouble here is that they aren’t _wrong_. Nobody (and I mean _nobody_ ) deserves a life of peace and luxury more than my fiancee, and yeah, my nieces and nephews can zero in on danger with the accuracy and single-minded determination of a cruise missile, but...no. I might not be the most Sentinel-y Sentinel, but until they fire or excommunicate me I’m damn well going to treat everyone who needs it regardless of their bank balance. Even the _idea_ of forcing people to go bankrupt or sell everything they own so I’ll treat them makes me feel a bit ill. That’s not me, and it never will be.

Thankfully those requests have kind of died down a bit, due in no small part to a spirited defence by my fiancee. As most of her work comes from the upper crusts of society, she’s the one who ends up having to shut down most of these approaches. Her answer is that she’s already _living_ the life she’s always wanted, and if it came down to us either taking their money or eating our shoes she’d sooner be served ‘walking boot en croute’ than force me to be someone I’m not. Sometimes I’m worried this might be costing her work, but she’s long taken the view that if someone’s commissioning her to get access to me...well, they can jog on.

Anyway, that seemed like about eight hours to me (and probably infinitely longer to most of you) so let's get back to that hot snoozing action aboard Setzer’s ship!

* * *

I slept well. _Really_ well, actually. In the end, I was only awoken by the rhythmic, polite tapping of someone at the door. Who the hell _was_ that? It wasn’t like Terra or I ever got any visitors, particularly so early in the morning.

“Ugh,” I turned over, and somehow managed to get totally entangled in my bedsheet, “Damnit! Tee? Can you get the door, please?”

There was no answer, and with some effort I managed to lever myself up into a sitting position, “Tee? What’s…”

The question died on my lips as I took in at my unfamiliar surroundings, and then the memories of yesterday came rushing back as a wave of light and noise. Terra was gone.

“Oh, _no_ ,” I murmured. The rapidly changing situations yesterday had forced me to keep my emotions bottled up as best I could, but now they came roaring back in full force. For a moment I sat amongst the bedsheets, clutching at them tightly as I fought with my rising anger. Terra was gone. My hangar was gone. My _home_ was gone. All of them taken from me by that...that-

Thankfully, another tap at the door shook me back to reality, “Excusez moi, Monsieur Mage Knight? Are you awake? Are you decent?”

“I am now!” with an angry grunt I tore myself free of my sheets and came smoothly to my feet. He wasn’t Kefka, but he would do, “What do you want?”

The small door swung open, revealing a short, balding man who I assumed to be the gambler's cook. What he lacked in height, however, he more than made up for in girth, and his friendly, jowly face seemed to exude an almost irritating level of goodwill and mirth. Unsurprisingly, he was dressed in a large, spotless white coat and apron, and as I watched he quickly snatched a large chef's hat down from a hook behind the door and crammed it on his head.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Mage Knight," the chef said, and bobbed his head respectfully before turning to face me, "Et quel est votre nom, mon ami?"

"Really? That accent _has_ to be a joke," I said flatly. Dealing with a walking stereotype was _not_ how I wanted to start my day, "Don't you think you're laying it on a bit thick?"

"Ah, oui!" the chef said, and chortled happily, "Excellent! I can see you hav-"

“Oh, come on!”

"Very well, sir," the chef's accent shifted quite suddenly to the harsher tones of someone from East Vector, "What can I do for you, then?"

“Oh. It _was_ a joke?” I blinked, and felt a slight twinge of shame, “I’m sorry. I was being an arse.”

“Quite understandable, sir, quite understandable,” he said, breezily, “I understand that you’ve been through hell.”

“Yeah, but...well, I’m still sorry," I extended my hand, "I’m-”

“I know who you are, mate. _Everyone_ knows who you are.”

“Oh, um... that’s great,” I said, “So who are you?”

“Juisane LeBlanc,” he shook my hand, and then leaned in conspiratorially, “Actually, my name’s Sam Baker, but don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. So let me guess; this whole Albrenk thing is an image thing again?"

"Oh, yes. Albrenk cuisine’s known to be the finest in the world," he said airily, "For some reason, some of the boss’ clients have it set in their minds that only someone _from_ Albrook could possibly master it – hence the act."

"...right," I said, uncertainly, "I don't understand, but I'll take your word for it. So _why_ are you knocking on my door? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad for the wakeup call, but..."

"The boss said you might be feeling peckish,” he said, “‘Asked me to put something together for you.”

“Really? That’s nice of him,” I said, with some surprise, “You don’t have to-”

“I insist!” he said, “If you’re going to go toe to toe with the Empire, the _least_ I can do is make sure you have a good meal or two inside you.”

“You’re not a fan, I take it.”

“Oh, the Empire’s fine. It’s just I’m not a fan of the people at the top,” he said, “We need people who can bring us all together! Gestahl and his cronies just in it for the power, and I reckon that an agitator like you’s just what we need to shake the whole thing up a bit!”

“I’m not an agitator!” I snapped, “I just want my sister back!”

“A runaway Mage Knight? Not an agitator?” Sam gave me a long, hard look, but finally relented, “Well, best of luck to you, sir. Like I said, the least I can do is make sure you’ve got a good meal or two in you, so what’ll it be?”

“I...hmm,” I said, “What do you have?”

“Why don’t you come and see?” he said, and stepped aside to let me out of my room, “Galley’s just down the hall.”

The gallery, it had to be said, was somewhat _smaller_ than I expected. It certainly wasn’t big enough to feed that gambling hall in full swing, but despite that it _was_ well stocked. Large steel compartments were bolted to every wall, and a quick, curious peek revealed that they were filled to bursting with pastas, sauces, and other staples. Across the kitchen, large slabs of cured meat were tied up next to strings of fat sausages and a brace of game birds, and a rack of mysterious spices took up the majority of one wall. The centre of the room was almost entirely occupied by a large metal work surface and two ovens which gleamed in the bright overhead lighting.

Without further ado, Sam herded me onto a stool and immediately set to retrieving pots and pans from their resting place under the work surface, “The boss said he’s just setting up the transceiver for something, but I’m sure I can whip up something for you in the meantime. What do you like?”

“I’m...not sure,” I admitted. Years of Imperial canteen cuisine hadn’t exactly done much for my palette, “I guess I’m not fussed so long as it isn’t porridge.”

"No worries there."

"Actually...no gruel, please," I added, upon further consideration, "Or black pudding, or pasta, or meat loaf. Sorry."

"That sharn't be a problem, young sir," Sam said, and began wiping around around the inside of a small pan, “How about an omelette?”

“Never had one before,” I said, and he gave me a rather surprised look, “Don’t look at me like that! Our canteen’s specialty dish was ‘grey slop with lumps in it’.”

“That sounds terrible. What else did they offer?”

“Um…” I paused for a moment while I thought, “Nothing, actually. That was pretty much it, although on Tuesdays the grey was more of an off-white. We couldn’t ever work out if it was because the ingredients were new or past their expiration date.”

“My word. Well, you’re in for a treat today, my friend!”

“I’m sure I am,” I agreed, and watched as he retrieved three eggs from a cupboard and cracked them into a bowl with practised ease. With a fleeting smile, I thought about how absurd it would be to see Doris something like this, but then the image of her lying dead on the floor shouldered its way into my mind. She may have been a terrible cook, but she hadn’t deserved that.

Sam looked up, apparently sensing the change in mood, “Are you okay, young sir?”

“I…” I shrugged helplessly as the tears welled up, “Sorry. It’s just... _everything_ , I guess.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked, “I’m an excellent listener.”

“I dunno. I don’t really know the words,” I thought about it a little more, and then ventured, “I just feel...empty. Hollowed out, I guess, almost like I left half of me back in Wareydon.”

“I know the feeling.”

“It’s worse than that, though. I feel angry; _really_ angry. I haven’t been this mad in a long time, and...that didn’t end well. When a Mage Knight blows their top, it’s not _entirely_ a euphemism.”

“You aren’t about to explode, are you?” he said, with a rather nervous laugh.

“No!” I said firmly, “There’s no way that I’m going to give Kefka that kind of sodding satisfaction.”

“An excellent decision, young sir. Particularly for those around you,” the cook gave me a brief smile, and then went back to the cupboards for salt and pepper, “I’ve also found that a good meal does wonders for people’s mood. When was the last time you ate?”

“I…” I thought about this for a moment. When _was_ the last time I’d eaten? Was the last thing I’d had _really_ Doris’ porridge? “Over a day ago, I think.”

“Then I daresay that some of your anger stems from hunger. ‘Hanger’, if you will.”

“Very clever,” I remarked, and decided to change the subject, “So, what’s it like being an airship cook? Seems like a strange career choice.”

"It pays well, and once you get past his...oddities, the boss is a pretty good employer," Sam replied, "Besides, I've always wanted to travel, ever since I was a little nipper."

"’Suppose that comes with the territory…but it seems kind of dangerous. I mean, I know that the IAF has been gunning for Setzer. Do you _really_ want to end up being collateral when his luck finally runs out? It will.”

"It's a risk, young sir," the cook gave me a toothy smile, "Do you think I'd be a gambler's cook if I didn't want to take risks?"

"I see your point, I suppose-” my comment was cut off by a sudden, ear-piercing squeal of white noise, "Agh! What's that?"

"Sounds like the captain's turned on the transceiver," Sam said, and there was a sudden sizzle as he threw his concoction into a pan, "The radio room's just out that door and to your left. He’ll be lucky to get a signal up here, though."

"We’ll see, I guess," I hopped down from the stool, "Be back in a tick!"

* * *

If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said that the 'radio room' was a repurposed broom closet. It was tiny, barely large enough for two people to crowd around the enormous array of instruments that covered the far wall. Setzer was hunched over in the room’s only chair, his silhouette outlined against the sheeting static on a small circular screen. He was furiously working at the controls, and as I drew closer I could hear him muttering in dark tones.

"...stupid...poorly made...swear this is the last time..."

"Um, hello?" I said cautiously, "Can I help?"

“Depends,” he replied irritably, “Do you have any experience with tuning into television broadcasts?”

“Actually…yeah. My CO sometimes got me to do it when the horse racing was on,” I said, and decided to leave out the part where I was also the antenna stand, “Want me to-”

There was a sudden rush of static, and then the screen went blank.

“Sure!” he said, as he threw up his hands, “It was for your benefit anyway.”

“Really? Why? What’s on?” I quickly took his place at the controls and cast my eye over the knobs and dials. There were rather more here than there was on our set back at the hangar, but I was pretty sure I could work it out…

“IBC Broadcast,” he said, “The Emperor himself is giving an address. No prizes for guessing the subject. I thought it might help you make your decision, assuming you haven’t already made it.”

“I haven’t,” I admitted. I gave a couple of knobs an experimental twiddle, and was rewarded with a burst of light from the screen, “I was asleep.”

“You looked exhausted,” he said, “Sleep well?”

“Better than ever,” I said, “Thanks for everything, by the way. I would’ve been happy in the hold, but-”

“What kind of host would I be if I did that?” he said, “I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

“I’ll be sure to uphold it to everyone I meet,” I said, “Um, what’s the Jidooran for ‘frequency’?”

“Oh, it’s that one,” he pointed to a slightly bulkier knob, and I gave it a very _tiny_ twist. The static on the screen scrolled and popped, and suddenly the big, bold letters of the IBC logo popped into existence on the screen.

" _-this is Vector Broadcasting House; the time is eight 'o' clock..."_

"We got it!” I said happily.

"We lucked out,” Setzer said, “I wasn’t sure if I’d get it through that storm.”

The logo vanished and for just the briefest of moments there was an image of a man in a well-tailored suit, shuffling his papers in front of a microphone.

" _Our main story: A terrorist attack on a military barracks in the Wareydon region has claimed the lives of almost thirty soldiers, including that of Mage Knight and Trainee Sentinel Firmament Branford. We go now to the Imperial Palace, where Emperor Gestahl is preparing to address the Empire following this horrific attack..."_

I sat back silently and felt the bile rise up in my throat. On the screen, the scene changed to a blurred, slightly grainy image of the ornate facade of the Imperial Palace. Two heavy-set, gilded doors stood between a pair of snow-swept marble pillars, and a small podium bearing the Emperor’s seal had been placed front and centre. As we watched, the doors swung slowly inwards and Emperor Gestahl emerged, walking slowly and solemnly. He was wearing the impressively intricate black and red robes of office, and his thick, snowy-white beard fluttered majestically in the icy winter wind. Behind him followed a disturbingly familiar figure, and I felt the anger begin to pool once again as the camera shifted focus, bringing his hideously made up face into full view.

"Is that...General Kefka?" Setzer frowned, and leaned closer, "What on earth _is_ he wearing? Is that a cravat?"

"That's Kefka, alright," I growled, "I wonder where his pet assassin's got to? I thought those two were inseparable."

The emperor slowly raised his hands in a grandiose gesture, and the crowd immediately went silent. Gestahl appeared to pause for dramatic effect, and then his deep, powerful voice rang throughout the cabin.

" _My citizens,"_ he began, _"Last night our great country suffered a great wound; for the first time in almost thirty years, the blood of our fellow countrymen has been spilled by a brutal, vicious attack against those who have chosen to spend their lives in service to the Empire."_

"He certainly sounds like he believes what he's saying," Setzer said evenly.

"He always sounds like this," I said, "Once you’ve heard one of his speeches, you’ve heard them all."

"Still, I wonder how much Kefka's told your emperor about the part _he’s_ played in these events _,"_ the gambler tapped the screen, "Too bad the reception isn't good enough to see his expression; we could learn a lot from that."

"Surely he can’t have said anything, right?” I said, “I mean, he’s committed treason and murder! How could-”

" _The pain I feel from this is great indeed, and I am sure that every one of you has felt keenly the loss of our brave servicemen in the aftermath of this most heinous attack. Allow me to offer my most sincere assurances; we shall find the perpetrators of this most...vile act, and we shall bring them to face such justice that only our great Empire can deliver. Already my most trusted agents are at work, diligently recovering the evidence that will lead us to our enemy, wherever they may be."_

“Where have I heard this line before? Oh, yeah,” I said, “There was this serial killer who was murdering poor women in North Vector, and the police were completely stumped. In the end they got so desperate they eventually grabbed this innocent Tzenian bloke and put him on trial. Of course he ended up confessing everything. Twenty-five years later, the truth comes out; it was the investigating officer who was actually committing the murders, if you can believe that. One of the greatest miscarriages of justice the Empire's ever seen, apparently. Very embarrassing for the Emperor, too."

"So...they let him out after twenty five years in prison?"

"They don’t imprison serial killers in the Empire. Especially ones who confess to every last sordid detail," I said grimly, "They hanged him.”

" _To those responsible, know that the fury of the Empire shall not stop at our borders. If_ any _country is found to be harbouring our enemy then our vengeance shall be direct and merciless. You have my word, we shall not permit these terrorists to go to ground as we did thirty years ago."_

"International sabre-rattling? Really?" Setzer shook his head, "Even if you weren’t sitting right here beside me, I’d probably start to feel a little suspicious.”

" _I have received a request from one of my most trusted advisers that she be allowed to oversee this operation. Given her impressive performance in handling the attempted secession of Maranda, I believe General Celes Chere will bring about a swift resolution to this current crisis."_

The screen suddenly panned to the right, revealing a small cluster of dignitaries and counsellors sitting on long benches under a small canopy.

"Is that your General down there?" Setzer said, and pointed indistinctly towards the centre of the screen. Before I could confirm it for myself, the camera suddenly zoomed right in on the young military leader, looking positively resplendent in her full dress uniform, "My word," the gambler continued, "She _does_ clean up nicely, doesn’t she. You know who she reminds me of? There’s this opera singer who-”

"Something's wrong.”

"What?"

"That last statement caught her off guard," I said, "Yeah, I'd know that expression anywhere."

"What expression?" Setzer gave me an appraising look, "Look, kid, I've based my entire livelihood on knowing what people are thinking, and...she's anxious, but-"

"I grew up with Celes, and I _know_ when she’s been caught off guard," I replied sharply, "She can’t hide it from me. I'll bet a week's pay that she wasn't consulted about her 'request' beforehand."

"You're on," Setzer turned back to view the action, "How much is a week's pay, by the way?"

"After tax?" I made a quick mental calculation, "Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m paying _them_.”

"I _did_ say you were in the wrong line of work, kid.”

"The work’s fine. It’s the attempted murder I dislike," I said, and then waved at the screen, “But...I dunno. I think there’s something else going on that we can’t see...”

There was a sudden shift as the camera refocused on the Emperor. For some reason, I could already feel a sense of unease building in the pit of my stomach as the emperor cleared his throat and began to speak again.

" _So far, our investigators have managed to determine that the terrorists who perpetrated this vile act had a purpose beyond causing havoc and death. It appears that they had two specific targets in mind; two consummate, professional soldiers, regarded by their superiors as being amongst the elite of our armed forces. I speak, of course, of our two famed Mage Knights, Private Terra Branford and Trainee Sentinel Firmament Branford. Tragically, it appears that Sentinel Branford was in his room at the time of the explosion, and his body was recovered from the ruins early this morning. Our thoughts are with his sister during her bereavement, and we offer her the sincerest of condolences in this most difficult hour."_

"Did you hear that?" I smiled humourlessly, "I'm ‘elite’!"

"According to Gestahl, anyway," Setzer pointed out, "Of course, according to Gestahl you're also _dead_ , so his statements are at least somewhat open to interpretation."

" _I would pay tribute to Private Branford's fortitude and courage in her time of mourning, and I have received news that she wishes to join the task force assigned to investigating this brutal act so that those who so callously destroyed her life can never, ever do so again. After careful consideration, I have assigned her to a secondary unit operating under General Kefka."_

My stomach lurched as the camera shifted to the far right of the stage where two figures were standing apart from the rest. One of them was immediately recognisable as my favourite crazy, cravatted General, whilst the other-

"Say, is that your sister?" Setzer said suddenly.

If I was being honest with myself, I had expected something along these lines ever since the Emperor had started prattling about the Mage Knights, but even so the static-filled, blurred image of Terra standing calmly in front of the Imperial Palace shocked me to the core. I stared dumbly at the screen as my mind raced uselessly. Sure, she _looked_ okay, at least, but…

"She looks awfully calm," Setzer said, echoing my initial impression, "Serene, even."

“She does, doesn’t she…” I agreed, and felt a twinge deep inside, “This must’ve been what Celes was talking about!”

“What do you mean?”

"I...that..." I stuttered into silence, and tried again, "Terra’s even worse than me at poker, y'know. She's never been very good at concealing her emotions. _That-_ " I gestured wildly at the screen, "-well, there's nothing there. _She's_ not there."

"What do you mean, she's not there?" Setzer half-turned in his seat to give me a confused look, "I don't understand."

"Her _personality!_ " I waved my hands wildly, "It's not there! It's-"

"Calm down," Setzer said firmly, "You're saying that that isn't your sister?"

"Well, yes – but no!" I had a feeling that the gambler knew what I was on about, but I tried to put it into words regardless, "Celes mentioned that Kefka had enslaved her. Mentally, I mean.”

"That's...not possible. Nobody can do that."

"I didn't think so either, but about five minutes before that she tried to blow us out of the sky with a barrage of heat seeking missiles. _After_ she’d melted the hangar down for scrap…oh, no.”

I trailed off as I caught sight of something on the screen. While it was difficult to be _entirely_ sure, I thought I could see a dark blurry object wrapped around her head, buried deep within her curls.

"What?" Setzer said, and looked between the screen and I for just a moment, "What are you staring at?"

"...Slave Crown," I said hoarsely.

"What?"

"That band around Terra's forehead! Look!" I tapped the screen, "Celes said that they used a thing called a ‘Slave Crown’ to force her to do all those terrible things! That must be it!”

"I suppose that _would_ explain the serenity," Setzer said, in a slightly sick tone, "That's horrendous."

There was a long, awful silence, and then the camera panned mercifully back towards the Emperor. I exhaled long and hard as my sister vanished out of shot, but it didn’t seem to help.

"Of course," Setzer continued, "You realise that this means that Gestahl is entirely complicit in all this."

“Hold on, _what?_ " I gasped, “You can’t be serious. He’s the _Emperor!_ He wouldn’t-”

“Think about it, kid,” he said, “If Kefka _didn’t_ have the full, knowing approval of Gestahl, why would he risk parading your sister out in front of the Emperor, the army, and everyone watching around the continent?”

“I...guess?”

“And don’t you think that Gestahl’s speech was a bit _belligerent_ in places?” he added, “He promised ‘direct and merciless’ vengeance towards any country found to be harbouring your apparent killers! How long do you think it’ll be before a convenient lead turns up in, say, Figaro, or Jidoor?”

“That’s crazy!” I protested, “Why would he do that?”

“Power? Money? National unity?” Setzer shrugged, “Wars can be good for all three, especially if you think you’re unstoppable.”

“No, I mean... _why_ would he do that? Kefka I get, but the _Emperor?_ ” I said, in a suddenly anguished tone of voice, “Terra and I were good citizens! We stood for the anthem, we saluted the flag, and we always did our bit! Didn’t any of that matter? I don’t...understand...”

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said, and it sounded like he meant it, “But those kinds of things are for the little people. I’d be surprised if Gestahl ever saw you as anything more than a weapon.”

“But I’m a Sentinel!”

“And I’m sure they had a good laugh when you signed up.”

“I...oh, _Goddess_ ,” I laughed hollowly, and Setzer gave me a worried look, “You’re _right_. Of course you’re right. Not even _Kefka_ ’d be able to get away with what he’s done if he didn’t have support from on high!”

“Um-”

“And hey, why would the Emperor waste time with things like loyalty and being a decent human being when he can have _power,_ right? All this time I’ve been a bloody idiot! How could I have been so _blind?”_

“Firma, stop!” Setzer said, “This isn’t helping!”

“Don’t tell me what isn’t helping!” I waved a glowing hand, “Those... _bastards_ have enslaved my sister, set up Celes to kickstart an international war, and they’re doing their damndest to make sure that it’s carried out in _my_ memory. What else am I meant to do?”

"Calm down," Setzer said urgently, "You aren't going to help if you lose your temper!”

Something in his voice got through the anger fogging my brain, and as I took a deep breath I realised that I was actually shaking with anger. Worse still, I could see tell-tale ribbons of blue and gold coursing up and down my arms, and all around me I could hear the warning, snapping hum of electrical equipment in distress.

took another deep breath, and tried to force the anger back down inside. This time, though, it didn’t want to go. Up until now I’d been keeping it in check through Cid’s breathing exercises and the emotional support of my friends, but now it was free and running rampant, buoyed up by self-righteous fury and despair. I was dimly aware of Setzer retreating towards the radio room door as the glow grew ever brighter, and I teetered on the edge of a full-blown meltdown.

Of course, the Vector Broadcasting Company had no way of knowing this, and therefore it had no idea what effect showing another quick shot of Kefka was going to do for my already runaway temper. As his face flickered up I immediately felt it shift from a raw, hot anger to a single-minded cold fury that was somehow far, far worse.

"I'm going to kill him," I whispered, pointing at the screen, "I'm going to _fuc-_ "

The world around me suddenly blazed with golden light, and then there was a sudden, deafening explosion which blasted the equipment to twisted shrapnel and sparking circuitry. As the lights came crashing to the floor, bright actinic sparks leapt from my fingertips and ran across the remaining wiring, skittering and crackling wildly as they converged on the television screen. There was a _crack_ and then the glass exploded outwards in a storm of red-hot shards that scythed through the air and thudded into the opposite wall, which began to smoke.

In the wake of the destruction, there was a terrible silence, broken only by the hiss of cooling metal and the occasional spark from exposed wiring. All around me, the air was filled with bright blue and gold motes, which slowly began to fade as they drifted down through the wreckage covering the floor. My outburst had completely destroyed the room; and as the anger dissipated there came a sense of emptiness and deep shame.

“Oh gods...” I said, as I surveyed my handiwork.

From the corridor there came a pained grown. Quickly, I picked my way through the twisted metal and found Setzer hauling himself painfully to his feet. He’d clearly caught some shrapnel in the blast, and there was a nasty cut on his forehead that needed urgent attention.

“Setzer, I-” I reached reflexively for his injury, and he jerked violently away, sudden fear etched across his face. For a long time he stared dumbfoundedly between myself and the wreckage in his radio room, obviously too shocked to speak.

“My gods, kid,” he got out eventually, in an awed tone of voice, “My...gods.”

In the end it was too much for me; I ran.

* * *

If I’m being honest, I have to say that that’s not exactly my proudest moment. However, it _does_ kind of go some way to explaining why I, as a Mage Knight, have to keep a grip on it basically no matter _what_ happens. Magic, like so many things, is regulated by emotions, and when your emotional dial is twisted all the way to ‘murderous rage’ it’s generally only too happy to oblige. For a Mage Knight, the phrase ‘blowing one’s top’ is not _entirely_ euphemistic.

Still, if it was bad for us, you have to spare a moment for the poor saps who were charged with actually _raising_ us, particularly during those adolescent years when raging hormones make _everything_ terrible. Although Cid’s breathing exercises and lessons in self-control definitely helped, they undeniably focused on forcing emotions deep down inside rather than confronting them directly. It’s not his fault; he grew up in Vector, and the whole ‘stiff upper lip’ thing we’ve got going on is really just emotional suppression on a national scale. It’s unhealthy for regular folk, but for a Mage Knight? Well, if you keep on forcing all those negative feelings down, eventually they’ll stage a coup that can end up being genuinely spectacular. Unlearning those techniques and developing new ones that help properly _regulate_ my emotions hasn’t been easy, and the end result is that I’m probably more assertive and confrontational than I was before. At the same time, though, I can honestly say that I’m not a walking unexploded bomb, and that’s a goal I’m pretty sure everyone can get behind.

* * *

As most of the airship was taken up by the grand gambling hall, there weren’t all that many places for me to run to. In the end, Setzer found me hiding under one of the roulette tables with my knees up under my chin, staring at nothing in particular. My mind leapt uselessly from one melancholic topic to another, and I jumped backwards in surprise when a simple metal plate containing some strange, unidentifiable egg-based dish was shoved under my nose.

"Here, kid," Setzer said, in a carefully neutral tone, "Sam spent good time making you this omelette; he'll be very offended if you let it go to waste now."

"...thank you," I said quietly, and took the plate out of his grasp before he could change his mind, "I'm...I'm sorry about your screen, Setzer. I lost control."

"You don't say," the gambler sounded vaguely amused.

"I'll pay for it, somehow...I-"

"I rather doubt you'll be able to pay for a full refit of my radio room, if that's what you're suggesting," Setzer laughed shortly, "Oh, for heaven's sake! Come out from under that table. You look foolish under there."

Slowly, and rather hesitantly, I poked my head out from under the polished edge of his game board. Holding the prized meal close to my chest, I shuffled out into the gambling room and clambered unsteadily to my feet.

"Well, eat up!" Setzer gestured at the omelette. Digging in deep with my fingers, I grabbed a large chunk of the richly textured food and wolfed it down as fast as I could. It was delicious, and made all the more so considering how long it’d been since I’d had something to eat.

"Listen..." the gambler paused for a moment, as if not entirely sure how to proceed, "I can't say that I _like_ the idea of the Mage Knights. I mean, look at you!”

“...me?”

“Yeah, you. You're a grubby, scrawny, unremarkable person, but what you did earlier seems to have given me back years of my life, and my radio room? I’ve never seen destruction that _complete_. That’s terrifying.”

"Welff-" I began, with my mouth still half-full of omelette.

"On the other hand...there's Kefka. I've managed to do a good deal of business in the Empire-" Setzer's hand gestured quickly at the roulette table, "-and the idea of crossing someone like him is definitely unpleasant. But I saw what he’s done to your sister, and I just can’t sit still when he’s throwing what he’s done right in my face. That’s not right.”

"Umm..." I polished off Sam’s carefully prepared dinner as I tried to work out how to best put my next statement, "So you're still planning on then? Even after I wrecked your horribly expensive radio equipment?"

"All the radio sets in the world won't help if I haven't got a ship to fly them in," Setzer replied, "...and if that mad general has his way then the day won't be far off when I won't. Consider my helping you an investment in _my_ future, and I'd rather you lived long enough to help it mature."

"You mean, stop Kefka?" I raised my eyebrows, "You're kidding, right? He could probably take me on without even raising a sweat. I'm...not very good at blowing things to bits-"

Setzer’s eyebrow went up, ever so slightly, and I looked guiltily at the cut across his forehead.

-not deliberately, anyway. Besides, I haven't even considered anything like that. I just want to help my sister!"

“If that’s true, then you’d better start giving some serious thought to it,” he said ominously, “Now, did that broadcast help you make your decision? I need to know where you want to go, _now_.”

“Well…” I thought hard and fast. If the Emperor really _was_ in league with Kefka then Doma had to be out. Not only was it incredibly risky, but it was looking increasingly like a fool’s errand. While General Leo might sympathise with my predicament, and he would _definitely_ be disgusted with what had happened to Terra, he was also a fervent believer in the Empire itself. True, he was known for being an honourable man, but there was no way that he’d go against a direct order issued by the Emperor.

There was also what Anceleti had said. He’d been just as surprised as me about Celes sending me to Doma, and that last comment about using my instincts kept rattling around in my head. Clearly he agreed with my plan of action, or at the very least was cautioning against attempting to see General Leo. Had he _known_ that Gestahl was in on this? Had he suspected? It was certainly possible; through fair means or foul, my CO seemed to know most everything that was going on in the upper echelons of the Empire.

“I’m serious, Firma,” Setzer said, “Last chance, or it’s Jidoor.”

I twisted it over and over in my head, and reached a conclusion. Sure, Celes might have my head for it in the future, but that was preferable to Kefka having my head right _now_. Besides, she’d at least use a sharper axe.

“I want to go to South Figaro,” I said, and he gave me a slightly surprised look.

“Are you sure? You won’t be able to change your mind, you know.”

“I’m sure. Celes can’t help. Leo can’t help, and so I’m going to do the only thing I can,” I squared my shoulders and looked him firmly in the eye, “I’m going to save my sister.”


	10. Sweet Home, Figaro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has undergone substantial revisions thanks to the comments of my Beta Reader, VallasRevas. Hopefully it should now flow and work a whole lot better! Thanks, VallasRevas.

I would like to think that, based on the evidence available, you’d agree that I made the right call. I mean, while Celes definitely had my best interests at heart (and was absolutely _not_ concealing vital information out of a mixture of fear and sororal protectiveness) going to Doma would’ve been a death sentence, if not worse. That _isn’t_ to say that I didn’t feel guilty about it, mind. For the first eighteen years of my life, I’d basically had it drilled into me that superior officers and authority figures are to be obeyed immediately and without question, and that indoctrination runs _deep_ . Deep enough, in fact, that until about three years ago there was a part of me that struggled with the fact that I’d dared to go against the grain, even for something as mind-blowingly important as ‘saving my twin sister’. If that’s not at least a _little_ bit disturbing, I don’t know what is.

What shifted it in the end was my fiancee’s observation that, at that point, I probably _wasn’t_ part of the services anymore. Think about it; firstly the Empire forgot to pay me, and then one of the most senior Generals going kidnapped me, imprisoned me, tried to slit my throat, melt me with a bipedal battlewagon, and finally did his level best to blow me clean out of the sky with a barrage of heat-seeking missiles. This, of course, ignores the fact that _the Emperor himself_ declared me dead on national television. Can you think of a more drastic way to terminate someone’s employment? I can’t, short of stapling my discharge papers to one of the warheads - and let’s be honest, Kefka probably did that _anyway_. As far as I’m concerned, from that moment on I was a Free Member Of SocietyTM, and anything I did (or didn’t) do was entirely my choice, and definitely not as a result of some subliminal prodding by my CO. 

On the bright side, at least I never had to ask them for a reference.

* * *

For his part Setzer seemed satisfied with my explanation, or at the very least didn’t want to argue the point with the Mage Knight who’d just blown up his radio room. While he went to make the necessary course corrections and ramp up the engines, I went in search of a broom and a dustpan and brush. As the most junior member of my squadron I’d gotten pretty good at sweeping and tidying, and the thought of leaving Sam to clean up my damage after that delicious omelette didn’t sit well with me at all.

It was maybe a couple of hours later, while I was picking shards out of the wall with a pair of pliers, that a sudden shudder ran through the ship and I heard the turbines slowly winding down. Shortly thereafter Setzer came down the corridor, surveyed my handiwork with an amused look, and uttered a cursory ‘we’re here’ as he passed. With a forceful tug I managed to yank the last piece of glass out of the wood, and then followed the gambler out through the gambling hall and up to the main deck. The instant I stepped outside, my senses were assailed by brilliant sunshine and intense heat, and I was forced to shield my eyes as I stepped carefully over to the balustrade and peered out over this strange new land.

We had landed in a stunningly beautiful cove, of the sort normally shown on postcards and in tourist brochures. All around us was crystal-clear water, no more than a foot or two deep and glowing brightly in the morning sun. A little way away was the beach itself; a pure expanse of speckled, pale sand surrounded almost completely by towering grey-blue stone and, in the far distance, a path leading away into thick, green forest. It was peaceful, almost tranquil, with the only sound a gentle, soothing slosh of water against the hull of the airship, and for a long time I stood there drinking it in, afraid to move lest I shattered the dream.

"...wow," I said eventually. A flash of light from the water caught my eye, and I looked down to see the quick, flowing motions of a shoal of silvery fish as they darted around the hull of the Blackjack.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Setzer came up behind me, holding a coil of rope, "It's just as beautiful at night; in fact, some of my best parties have been held right here."

"I'll bet," I replied, mopping the sweat from my brow.

"You know, you're going to want to change that hat," Setzer pointed out, "People won't notice if you're wearing something to keep the sun off, but a bean hat in a tropical climate? Not such a good disguise."

"It goes well with the medical scrubs," I pointed out wryly, "Besides, I know there’s a Sentinel aid station in South Figaro; they should have something more appropriate for me."

“Do you really think so?” he said, and gave me an appraising look, “Because I _might_ have something in your size…”

“No; you’ve done more than enough for me already,” I said sincerely, “I...really don’t know how to begin to thank you.”

“By not dying,” he said bluntly, “If I’m throwing my chip into your pile, you’d better make damn certain that it’s your number that comes up. Anyway-" the gambler heaved a large, heavy rope over the side of the airship and stood back, "-neither of us have anything to gain by standing around here, so I suggest you get going."

"What, into the water?" I gave the sparkling oceans a worried look, "Aren't there...jellyfish and...uh, ray things in there?"

"I'm sure they're more scared of you than you are of them."

"I doubt it," I sighed, and got a firm grip of the dangling line, "'Looks cold, too..."

"At this time of year? Don't make me laugh," Setzer said, "Stop complaining and get climbing!"

"Okay, okay!" I hoisted myself over the side, "Thanks for everything, by the way. I'm... really sorry that I broke your radio."

"If you survive, we'll discuss a payment plan," the gambler laughed shortly, "Personally, I'm not going to hold my breath."

I snorted inwardly as I half-rappelled, half-fell down the side of the wooden hull, cursing the gambler with every bounce for his inability to land somewhere where I wouldn't be immediately devoured by sharks the instant I entered the water. My last curse, however, turned into an involuntary yelp as my hand slipped and I was dumped, unceremoniously, into the sparkling sea. For just a moment, my world turned blue before I managed to gain some purchase on the smooth sands under my feet, and I surfaced spitting water and curses in equal measure.

"Well, _that_ fills me with confidence," Setzer observed from on high, "I'll just go ahead and put in an order for a new radio room, shall I?"

"Haven't you got some..." I bit my tongue on what was going to be a very poor retort, and set to work on wringing out Celes' bean cap, "You know what? I’m just going to get going."

With that, I mustered what little dignity I had left and began the arduous task of wading through the pleasantly warm water towards the nearby beach. Behind me, I could hear Setzer still chuckling to himself as he coiled up his damnable rope. I made a point of fixing my full attention on the cove before me, lest I heard something that managed to drive my already bruised ego to a new low. Eventually, I staggered up out of the water and stood at the edge of the beach while the water ran around my feet. It really _was_ a lovely day, I decided, and despite everything that had happened, my spirits lifted ever so slightly as I took in the view.

“You’d better look out, Figaro!” I declared bravely, to myself, “Because here I- _sodding hell!_ ”

My proclamation was cut short as my first, firm foot on Figaran soil encountered a layer of sand freshly calcined by an uncaring sun, and I howled in pain as the nerve endings were seared clean off. With a hiss of annoyance, I plunged my foot back into the refreshingly cool ocean while I considered my next move. From behind me there came a low-pitched humming noise, and I turned to see the Blackjack's props begin to turn lazily, throwing up spray every time a blade slapped into water. The large blades began to accelerate, driving harder and harder into the water until the Blackjack surged forwards up and out of the water, leaving a scintillating rainbow in its wake. I waved once at the departing vessel and then turned back to consider my new mortal enemy. There was no way around it, I concluded, and with gritted teeth and a long, deep breath, I put my head down and started to run.

After an hour, it had to be said that my relationship with the Figaro countryside could be defined as ‘rocky’, although possibly not quite so rocky as the countryside itself. There were loads of them; big rocks, small rocks, round rocks, square rocks, even razor sharp rocks shaped like little phalanxes, which I discovered in the worst possible way the instant I came hopping off the beach. The deep green forest which had seemed so inviting from far off turned out to be massive disappointment, too. It was actually a rather scrubby affair, and consisted mostly of small plants clinging to whatever thin soil they could find in the unending sea of sun-blasted stone, with none of the flowers, birds, or adorable woodland creatures that I was used to seeing back around Wareydon. To make up for this discrepancy almost all the plants had inch long thorns instead, which provided a momentary, unwelcome diversion from the rocks. Between the limp, the lacerations, the puncture wounds, the sudden homesickness, and what I suspected was a combination of sunburn _and_ sunstroke, I was seriously to doubt that Figaro was actually fit for human habitation. Reality, I concluded, was a thoroughly nasty place to have to live.

Shortly thereafter, though, my luck took a little turn for the better when I stumbled across a little dusty path winding its way through the forest of pointy plants and even pointier stones. Feeling a little buoyed by this discovery, I decided to follow it and was absolutely delighted to find a jaunty little market that told me I was no more than two and a half miles from South Figaro. Sure, that planted it firmly on the other side of the irritatingly tall hill smack bang in front of me, but at least I wasn’t about to die of thirst out here. With a small sigh of relief, I did my best to shake off my accumulated grievances and staggered onwards.

* * *

In the end, it was worth it. The instant I crested that hill and saw the sparkling, pristine port city of South Figaro spread before me, I was lost for words. My only previous experience of a large city had been Vector, which was a dark, cramped, grimy place that was covered in smog and rarely saw the sun, but South Figaro? It was something else.

From my position atop the hill, the city seemed to be a shimmering mass of white stone and azure rooftops, built around the sides of a sparkling deep water cove on which hundreds of tiny, brightly coloured sails bobbed lazily on the gentle waves. Around the harbour there was a bustling promenade, filled with stalls with elaborate awnings, and every so often the particularly loud cry of a hawker floated up on the wind. Beyond that, the city spread upwards into the hills through interconnected terraces and shaded courtyards, with a tramline and larger roads carrying traffic out of South Figaro and into the distance haze.

I squatted down for a moment while I considered what to do. Okay, so my position _had_ vastly improved. Instead of stumbling around the Figaran wilderness in tatty clothing designed for the inside of an operating room, I would now be stumbling around a major population centre looking like a homeless beggar. That was going to attract attention, which was something that I _really_ didn’t want at this point in time. What I needed to do was get down there, find the Sentinel aid station, convince them to part with some clothing, and then find out how Celes’ money could be put to use in getting me as far north as possible. Some lunch was probably in order at some point too, and although I had no idea what Figaran cuisine actually _was, the_ rumbling coming from my stomach suggested that I probably wouldn’t find this a problem.

It wasn’t a great plan, but what else could I do? Besides, how hard could this really be.

After a while, I was willing to concede that the answer was ‘quite hard’. While getting into the city had been easy enough, I quickly realised that the apparently simple layout actually belied a labyrinthine set of backstreets that twisted and turned with a life all their own. More than once, I found myself back where I’d started despite being completely sure I’d been walking in the opposite direction, and while I was at least _reasonably_ sure I was heading downhill towards the harbour, the snaking alleyways had a nasty habit of turning back on themselves or simply ending in a dead end. I rapidly realised that retracing my steps was also a fool’s errand; after all, where was I retracing them _to?_ To my untrained eye one white-walled alley was much the same as another, and without street signs or any town maps I began to feel trapped and even kind of claustrophobic. Adding to this was the steadily increasing feeling that I was being watched. Although I tried to tell myself that it was nothing more than simple paranoia, the prickling on the back of my neck simply would _not_ go away.

It had to be said, my anxiety was not being helped by the enormous dose of culture shock. As a good Vectoran, I was used to keeping my head down while I tried to pretend everyone else didn’t exist. While that worked well enough while everyone else was pretending the same thing, here I quickly realised that that would get me either pushed around or trodden on. It was like I’d been pitched into some kind of never-ending street party, and I wasn’t entirely sure I liked it. Everywhere I went my ears were assaulted by a continuous barrage of street music and the penetrating cries of vendors, selling everything from fruit to aphrodisiacs at the top of their voices. There was no respite anywhere; on the odd occasion I managed to push through the throng into one of the slightly less crowded squares, I found myself in the middle of a whirlwind of greetings and arguments being held over coffee and wine. Somehow _everyone_ knew each other, for reasons fair and foul, and although my Figaran really wasn’t up to the rapid-fire speech and unending slang, I knew enough to get the idea that some of the friendships and grudges around me went back generations. At one point, two men just started brawling right in front of me, and while I stopped in shock everyone else just smoothly divided around them and got on with their day without so much as a downward glance.

As the day drew on the feeling of being trapped only got worse. Everyone was ignoring me; that much was clear, and that had to be due to the fact that I looked either like an escaped mental patient or homeless beggar. Street vendors would turn away as I approached, musicians would tone down their act, and the one time I tried to enter a taverna I was immediately chased out by a sour-faced woman screaming something incomprehensible and wielding a broom. If this really _was_ a never-ending street party, it was pretty clear that I wasn’t invited, and between my clothing, my complexion, and my limited grasp of Figaran I knew that I stuck out like a sore thumb. Worse still, the prickling in my neck was rapidly condensing into full blown paranoia; wherever I went I was sure I was starting to see the same people, giving me long, menacing stares that were in stark contrast to the indifference of their fellow citizens. Coming here was a mistake, I needed to get out of the city, I needed to find a place to regroup, I _needed_ space!

Out of the corner of my eye, my half-addled mind spotted a quieter, darker alleyway lined with bins. It promised welcome respite from the chaos, and with a surge of effort I forced my way across the street before finally collapsing in a hyperventilating heap in the shade. Hot, frustrated tears sprang to my eyes as I wrapped my knees up under my chin and tried to block out the cacophony nearby. I just needed a moment to get control, and then...then what? What was my next move? Without a decent set of clothes nobody seemed to be willing to talk to me, and if nobody was willing to talk to me then how the _hell_ was I meant to find my way through this blasted city to the blasted aid station to get a _blasted_ uniform? This was _ridiculous!_ How the hell was I going to save my sister if I couldn’t cope with a simple bloody city?

“Get a grip, damnit!” I snapped, and dashed away the tears with the back of my hand, “You are _not_ giving up!”

“Ah, I’m glad t’hear that, pal,” someone said. They were speaking perfect Vectoran, although for the life of me I couldn’t place the accent, “Most people in your position jus’ lie down and wait for the Sentinels.”

There was the soft sound of boots on stone, and then a man rounded the side of the bin and stood there looking down at me. He was fairly young, not that much older than me, with sharp features and messy, mousy brown hair tied back with a bandana. His clothing was nondescript to the point it seemed like they’d been selected to be deliberately forgettable, but at the same time were clearly chosen for their rugged qualities. He had a belt around his waist with a couple of pouches and, I realised with a small gulp, a long dagger carefully sheathed in a matte black scabbard.

“Vectoran, aye?” he said, and squatted down beside me, “Yer don’t look like yer speak much Figaran.”

“I get by!”

“Sorry, pal, but I’ve been watchin’ you. Whatever you were doin’ it weren’t ‘getting by’.”

“Okay, fine! My Figaran’s terrible,” I admitted, rather lamely, “But what did you mean by ‘people in your position’?”

“Well, yer look like yer sufferin’ from a classic case of ‘Figaro Syndrome’,” he said, “It always hits people from Vector and Doma the hardest. They come to South Figaro lookin’ for adventure an’ the noise, the people, an’ the culture just ends up being more than they can handle. Either they run away or-” he looked around, “-they find a nice, quiet spot like this an’ have a panic attack.”

“I’m not having a panic attack!” I objected, “I’m just…-”

“Hidin’ behind some bins havin’ a good cry and yellin’ at yourself?” he said, “Right.”

“I just needed to find the Aid Station!” I said angrily, “But none of those people out there were any help!”

“Well...yer do have that whole ‘homeless vagrant’ thing goin’ on, pal,” he said, “Don’t judge ‘em too harshly, pal; they’ve got enough goin’ on in their lives without havin’ to worry about someone like you.”

“ _Thanks_.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, “You said yer needed to find the aid station, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, and then looked up hopefully, “You don’t...happen to know the way, do you?”

“‘Course I do,” he said easily, “I know everywhere in South Figaro.”

“Could you take me there?” I said, “I figured that if I got a new uniform, I’d-”

“Yer a Sentinel? Aren’t you a little young?”

“I’m a trainee,” I said, “But I’d rather get out of these clothes as soon as I can. I don’t think they’re doing me any favours.”

“I’ll say,” he snorted, “C’mon, I’ll show you where to go.”

“Really? Thank you so much!” I said gratefully, and slowly got back up to my feet, “So...which way?”

“This way-” he turned back towards the street, and then paused for just a moment, “Actually...yer know what? Let’s take the scenic route. This _is_ yer first time in South Figaro, after all.”

The man led me at a gentle pace down towards the harbour, picking his way casually through the crowds. As we walked, we talked, or rather I let him talk while I listened. His name was Locke Cole, and he was originally from a far north city called ‘Kohlinglen’, which I’d heard about once or twice before. Although he was coy about what he actually did for a living (beyond saving wayward souls) he was clearly well known about town, although it would be a stretch to say that he was well _liked_ . While some people met him with a smile and a wave others muttered and turned away, and I saw them giving him dark, suspicious glances as we passed. They weren’t the only ones, actually; as our walk went on, I began to feel like something was _definitely_ off. Despite his relaxed demeanour I caught him surreptitiously scanning the crowds and rooftops on several occasions, and his choice of route became increasingly erratic. While we may have shared different views on the definition of ‘scenic’, I was at least reasonably sure that it didn’t involve cramped, rubbish-strewn back alleys and an apparently endless parade of fish markets. Whatever was going on, I was pretty sure it fell into one of three categories: either we _were_ being followed, he was leading me into a trap, or he was completely mad. If nothing else, I had to find out before I was overcome by the smell of raw seafood.

“Are we being followed?” I asked bluntly, and looked at him carefully for a reaction.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well...I was pretty sure I was being followed earlier,” I said, “And I was right, wasn’t it? _You_ were following me!”

“Aye,” he said, “But that’s ‘cause I was pretty sure you were about to have a nervous breakdown. And _I_ was right, wasn’t it?”

“Very funny,” I said, “But the other guys didn’t look like they had much of a sense of humour.”

“Hmm,” he stopped for a moment, “You ain’t from a big city, are you...um-”

“Tanis,” I said quickly, “Tanis Cooper. And...no. I’m not.”

“Didn’t think so. Well, one thing yer got to learn is that there’s always people lookin’ for a mark. Sometimes they ain’t even lookin’ for that; they just want to beat the shite out of someone. Who’s gonna notice some poor kid dressed in rags half beaten in an alleyway?”

“You think it was just some thugs?” I said.

“If it were anythin’,” he said, a little cautiously, “One of the symptoms of Figaro Syndrome _is_ paranoia. You may’ve just been seein’ things.”

“I don’t think I was,” I said firmly, “I’m not mad.”

“Never said yer were,” he replied blandly, “But the first thing we gotta do is make yer blend in. Thanks to that hat of yours, you stick out like a damn sore thumb. What’s with that, anyway?”

“It’s a gift from a friend,” I said shortly, and touched it in a slightly self-conscious manner.

“Oh, aye? What’d you do to offend them?” he said, “An’ why’re you wearin’ it when it’s almost thirty degrees out? You _tryin’_ to get heat exhaustion?”

“Look, is the aid station far? Only you said-”

“It’s just down there,” he said abruptly, and pointed down a short flight of stone stairs that led under an old, elaborate arch. With mounting suspicion I followed him down and out onto a spacious promenade that ran alongside the crystal blue waters of the harbour. There were maybe twenty or thirty wooden jetties that served as docks for a small amarda of colourful boats, as well as the many more that were out on the water enjoying the day. Across the bay, the jetties gave way to large, sandy beaches, filled with families congregating under cheerful umbrellas and children playing in the sand. I could make out the faint sounds of laughter, punctuated by the occasional shriek of joy, and felt a strange, wistful twist deep within.

“Kinda puts anything the Empire has to shame, doesn’t it?” Locke said. Clearly, I’d been staring.

“Hey, Albrook has some great beaches!” I said, with a slight twinge of misplaced patriotism, “But no. You can’t swim in the water near Vector. It’s not safe.”

“Maybe one day you should come experience it, then,” he observed, “But right now? There’s the aid station. We should go talk to your friends about changin’ out of that getup.” 

He pointed to a tall building that stood apart in a small, walled-off square. It immediately put me in mind of a castle keep, with small windows and a crenellated roof, and was built of heavyset, slate grey stone that stood in stark contrast to the cheery white walls of the promenade. Atop the building, a weathered stone statue of the blindfolded Goddess stood gazing out over the ocean, while a pair of silver and black flags snapped briskly in the breeze.

“Happy lookin’ place, innit,” Locke remarked, “They say it’s one of the oldest buildings in South Figaro.”

“What in the world?” I blinked, “That’s not an aid station, it’s a bloody fortress! Why would Sentinels need that?”

“Because it used to be that bein’ a Sentinel was a pretty risky occupation, ‘least round these parts. Some old habits die hard.” 

“So I see,” I said wonderingly, and breathed a sigh of relief, “Anyway, Locke? You’re a bloody lifesaver. I...guess this is where we part ways?”

“Oh, have yer suddenly remembered how to speak Figaran?” 

“Well...I, um,” I floundered a bit, “Not exactly, but I thought…”

“They won’t be able to speak Vectoran just ‘cause they’re Sentinels, y’know.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m not thinking,” I admitted, “I just feel like I’m keeping you from...whatever it was you were doing before you found me.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, pal,” he said airily, “You ain’t keepin’ me from anything. Now come on, ‘fore you draw a crowd.”

With one last quick look around the promenade, Locke set off briskly towards the aid station. We passed under another old stone archway and emerged into what seemed to be a small garden, set apart from the world. The interior walls of the square were covered in thick green vines with brilliant blue and orange flowers, and large grow beds thick with herbs had been arranged in orderly rows. Some of them I struggled to identify, but I was pretty sure that I could smell thyme and rosemary as we headed for the massive, imposing wooden doors that were apparently the entrance to the aid station.

“They’re always growin’ stuff ‘round here,” Locke said, in response to my unanswered question, “Most of it goes to the poor, but if you’re quick some days you can get some pretty good veggies on the cheap.”

“I’m not sure that Callista’s teachings were meant to help feed you ‘on the cheap’, mate,” I said piously, “They’re meant to inspire a sense of community and mutual cooperation!”

“And what’s more communal than helpin’ some poor, washed up kid I found cryin’ behind the bins find his way back to the arms of his Goddess, eh?” he said, “I’d say I’ve earned my carrots. And ‘sides, I thought Sentinels weren’t supposed to judge people.”

“We aren’t. Not in public, anyway.”

“Aye, so I’ve heard,” Locke threw me an amused look as we reached the entrance, “Well, here we are. Let’s hope your northern colleagues’re feeling helpful, eh?”

He pushed gently on a small wicket gate, almost invisible against the larger wooden door, and stepped through into a large antechamber. I followed suit, glad to be out of the harsh Figaran sun, and found myself in a waiting area that could have been the double of any of those back home. There were _some_ differences; it was darker, cooler, and diffuse electric lighting was being used in place of the harsh fluorescent tubes, but the rest was the same. The same uncomfortable chairs lined the walls, and one of the walls was devoted to the same posters and brochures I’d seen a million times before, even if they were now in Figaran. The only other exit to the room was a flight of stairs leading up, which I assumed led to the Sentinel’s offices and examination rooms.

In the middle of the room was a large, circular wooden desk, staffed by a bored looking young woman in a slightly rumpled grey-and-white trainee uniform. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as she took in my somewhat confused wardrobe, and then narrowed again as she turned to Locke.

“Cole!” she snapped, and unleashed a barrage of angry Figaran. Although most of it was too fast for me to follow, I was pretty sure I recognised the word for ‘carrot’.

“It seems like she remembers you,” I muttered, “How cheap were those veggies, again?”

“Ah, don’t mind her. She’s just annoyed ‘cause she got stuck with this posting instead of the one at the hospital. It... _may_ have been sorta my fault.”

“Oh, _great_.”

“Kalimera, Eleni!” he said cheerily, as he walked up to the desk. His initial attempts to placate her were met with a further scowl and another salvo of Figaran curse words, but after a few more exchanges he pointed at me and said, “Milás Vectoran?”

“Mou?” Eleni’s expression darkened and she shook her head furiously.

“Figured,” he gave me a shrug, “Vectorans ain’t exactly _popular_ in Figaro, I’m afraid.”

“Tell her I’m a Sentinel!” I said, and she looked at me with sudden comprehension.

“Sentinel?” Eleni said suddenly. I nodded, and in a flash her expression changed to a bright smile. There was another brief flurry of Figaran.

“She says the station commander speaks Vectoran,” Locke translated, “She just wants your name.”

“Oh, um,” I had sort of prepared for _this_ , at least, “I’m Trainee Sentinel Tanis, Tanis Cooper.”

“Tanis?” Eleni giggled, and then quickly hid her mouth behind her hand. Locke gave her a faintly confused look and then snapped his fingers.

“Ah, right; sorry pal, I forgot,” he said, “Tanis’ is a popular name ‘round these parts. A popular _girl’s_ name.”

“And it’s a unisex name in Vector!” I said, and added honestly, “And this is the first time anyone’s ever had an issue with it.”

“Okay... _Tanis_ ,” Eleni said, with mirth in her eyes, “Cole?”

“Yeah?”

She pointed at one of the chairs and said something threatening. This time I was _definitely_ sure I heard the word for ‘carrot’, and she concluded by driving her fist hard into her palm.

“Okay! Okay!” he said, and sat back down, “Jus’ be quick, pal. I ain’t sure how long we’ve got.”

“Before what?” I said, but before he could answer Eleni grabbed my hand and half pulled, half dragged me out of the room and up the flight of stairs. In contrast to her earlier disposition she now seemed curious, even excited, and when we reached the top of the stairs she stopped and rapped on the first door we came to. There was a call from within, and the trainee quickly opened the door and stepped inside. I heard a brief exchange of muffled Figaran, and then the trainee poked her head back around the corner and beckoned me in. With a slight twinge of anxiety, I stepped into a small office, filled with papers, books, and a simple wooden desk behind which sat the station commander. In honesty, I had half-expected some severe, ex-military man, probably with a smartly pressed uniform, thinning grey hair, and a chevron moustache. It therefore came as a bit of a surprise to find myself face-to-face with a portly, middle-aged woman with a round, smiling face and a maternal air, although from her expression I was _pretty_ sure she hadn’t expected to be dealing with a dishevelled bloke who had clearly just broken out of the local mental health ward.

“Goddess!” she exclaimed, half coming to her feet.

“Um, ma’am?” I said, and saluted quickly, “I’m-”

“Trainee Sentinel Tanis Cooper?” she asked, in fluent if accented Vectoran, “You don’t need to salute.”

“I...I don’t?”

“No,” she said, “Now...what in the world has _happened_ to you? Where’s your Guardian team? Where’s your _uniform?_ ”

“I...um…” I paused, not entirely sure which question to answer first.

“It’s okay, dear. Sit! Sit!” she said, and gestured to an old wooden chair next to the desk. I did so, and winced at the loud scrape of wood on stone, “Now, Eleni tells me that you don’t speak Figaran.”

“Not well, ma’am,” I admitted, “There’s a guy downstairs who helped me get here.”

“Cole,” Eleni said darkly. Apparently she understood more Vectoran than she was willing to let on.

“That man certainly has a talent for dredging up unusual things...and _people_ ,” the commander leaned in, her eyes narrowing, “I’ll admit that I haven’t seen any Reformist Sentinels in Figaro for a long time. I’d assumed that you’d just given up on us.”

“I...um…” I shrugged helplessly, “I thought we were all just Sentinels, ma’am.”

“Oh, we are. Dedicated to the service of Callista and all that,” she waved idly at a small statuette, balanced precariously on a pile of books, “We just... do things differently.”

“Like not saluting?”

“Exactly,” she said, “That doesn’t mean we don’t have standards, though. I’m assuming that you’re dressed the way you are because of some misfortune?”

“It’s a long story, ma’am.”

“No doubt,” she said, “You can explain yourself while Eleni here finds you a uniform. You look to be about a medium, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and she spoke quickly to the other trainee in a burst of Figaran. Eleni nodded, smiled briefly at me, and then left, closing the door behind her.

“Now-” she began, but I quickly cut in before she could continue.

“Ma’am,” I said urgently, “I’m _not_ Trainee Sentinel Tanis Cooper.”

“You aren’t?” she said, with some surprise.

“No,” I said, and quickly snatched off my hat, “I’m Trainee Sentinel Firmament Branford.”

“The Mage Knight Sentinel? The _dead_ Mage Knight Sentinel?” she said, surveying my emerald locks with some surprise, “My word. Cole really _has_ outdone himself this time.”

“He found me behind some bins, ma’am.”

“My word,” she gave me a sympathetic look, “Overwhelmed by our fair city? It happens to the best of us. Happened to _me_ the first time, in fact. Still...you’re looking very _well_ for a dead Sentinel, though. I assume that there are some people for whom this will be bad news.”

“Yes, ma’am. Most of them are chasing me,” I said, “But right now, I need to get to Narshe. Preferably yesterday.”

“Narshe?” she said, “What could you possibly hope to find there?”

“I’m...not sure. But _somebody_ seems to think it’s important, and I haven’t got any better ideas,” I paused, and then added, “My sister is in trouble. I have to do _something_.”

The commander leaned back for a moment, her eyes narrowing shrewdly, “Very well. I’m not sure what help our little aid station can give you, but I’m certainly not about to leave a fellow Sentinel in the lurch. Quick, pop that beanie cap back on your head before Eleni comes back with your uniform, and once you’ve gotten changed come right back here. I’ll see what I can do in the meantime.”

Barely had I crammed my hair under Celes’ cap when there was a light tap at the door, and Eleni proudly presented me with a fresh-smelling, cleanly pressed uniform and a couple of pairs of boots. It was slightly different to the one I was used to; the top was spun from a thin, durable cotton, while the trousers had rather more pockets than the ones back home. If I was being honest, it felt like the designers had prioritised rugged reliability over immaculate neatness, and right now that suited me just fine.

The trainee sentinel found me an empty office in which to change, and I felt an enormous sense of relief as I stripped off the tattered scrubs and put on the durable gear. For the first time in days, I felt clean, comfortable, and in _uniform_ . I wasn’t just some ghost floating around in whatever clothing I could beg, borrow, or steal; I was a Sentinel again! As I finished lacing up the pair of boots that actually fit, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging behind the door, and felt a sudden surge of confidence. I could do this. I _could_.

By the time I returned to the commander’s office, beanie cap on head, I found her deep in discussion with none other than my self-declared tour guide. Both of them looked up when I tapped gently on the door, and Locke gave me a wry grin.

“I gotta say, pal, the uniform suits you,” he said, “Although I still don’t reckon that beanie hat’s doin’ yer any favours.”

“It’s fine. I’m prepared to make an exception,” the commander said briskly, “Now Cooper, it appears that we’ve had a bit of a stroke of luck.”

“We have?” I raised my eyebrows, “Um, ma’am.”

“Yes. It turns out that Mr. Cole is travelling in the same direction as you.”

“How very convenient, ma’am,” I said, and turned to Locke, “You’re going to Narshe?”

“Narshe? Nah,” he laughed shortly, “Why’d I want to go to an armpit like that? Come to think of it, why do _you_ want to go to an armpit like that?”

His shrewd gaze bored into me, and I suddenly found myself lost for words. Before I could come up with a halfway decent lie, though, the station commander coughed and shuffled some papers on her desk.

“While I might disagree with your terminology, Mr. Cole, I will accept that Narshe is a... _difficult_ placement. It’s a struggle to find anyone willing to work there.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Locke said, “Between the permafrost, the predators, and the endless winters...didn’t it used to be a punishment tour, too?”

The commander fixed Locke with a severe look, “We don’t do that anymore, Mr. Cole. Hence the struggle.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said, “Um...are you sure this is wise?”

“Trainee Cooper,” her severe look transferred immediately to me, and for a moment I felt like a little kid in the headmaster’s office, “Mr. Cole here has worked for the Sentinels in the past. He knows Figaro like the back of his hand, and more to the point he can _speak the language_. I would rather not have to fish you out from behind the bins a second time.”

“Yes ma’am. Sorry ma’am,” I said contritely.

“It’s quite alright,” she smiled, “I understand your concerns, but you can trust him, and I’m sure he can get you at least as far as Castle Sacae.”

“‘Should be easy,” said Locke, “Unless, of course, yer a refugee from the Empire with a million quid bounty on yer bonce or something ridiculous like that! But hey, what’re the chances of that?”

“Quite slim, I’m sure,” said the commander, “And I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion. As for payment-”

“Oh, don’t worry about _that_ . But if you can tell Eleni that I definitely _did_ pay for those carrots then I’d be grateful. ‘Not my fault if she can’t find the receipt!”

“Consider it done,” the commander said, with some amusement, “I’m sure that Callista will appreciate your generosity.”

“It’d be a nice change,” he got to his feet, “So Cooper, yer ready to go?”

I blinked, “Now? You mean _now_?”

“What, yer got prior engagements?” Locke said, “Of _course_ I mean now. If we move fast, we can probably catch the next tram out to the train station, an’ from there the overnight sleeper through to Katastari International. It’s easy from there.”

“See, Trainee?” said the commander, “Locke knows what he’s doing. Just...don’t listen to him _too_ closely. I know how impressionable young Sentinels can be.”

“Duty noted, ma’am,” I said, “And thank you. So much.”

“Not at all, and I will be sure to let Castle Sacae know to expect your arrival. Eleni will see you out.”

“Actually, if it’s all the same to you we’ll take the back entrance,” Locke said, “I’d like to avoid drawin’ attention to us, an’ Eleni…”

The commander’s lips quirked, “Understood. You know where it is?”

“‘Course I do,” he said, “C’mon, Cooper. Let’s get movin’.”

* * *

I followed Locke out of the aid station through a small back door that led directly into a shaded, cobbled backstreet. Once again, he made a quick show of scanning the street before motioning me out, and I gave him a suspicious glare.

“We _are_ being followed, aren’t we.” I said firmly, “C’mon, Locke. I’m not _completely_ stupid.”

“Never said yer were, pal.” 

“Then why aren’t you telling me the truth?”

“Somethin’ tells me I ain’t the only one, pal!” he said sharply, “Most people can’t tell the difference between Vector and Wareydon accents, but _I_ can. Don’t yer think it’s kinda coincidental that a bunch of Sentinels get murdered in a ‘terrorist attack’ at IAF Wareydon, an’ then one turns up a day later in South Figaro lookin’ like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards?”

“Well-”

“Yer know what I reckon?” Locke’s eyes flicked momentarily towards my cap, and he seemed to back off, ever so slightly, “I... reckon that yer saw something that you shouldn’t have. Somethin’ that might be... _embarrassing_ for the Empire? Maybe even the identities of the people who iced that Mage Knight. ‘Cause I’m tellin’ you, if that were _really_ a ‘terrorist attack’ then I’m a damn cabbage.”

“That’s great,” I said, and looked down towards the end of the alleyway, “Could you tell those people too? They seem to be interested in hearing about it.”

“Who?” Locke looked over his shoulder, “Ah, shite.”

Three heavyset men had gathered just inside the alleyway, away from the crowds and the noise. Although they were mere silhouettes against the bright Figaran sun, there was a generally menacing air about them. I was pretty positive two of them had been following me across town, but the third guy was new. He was shorter than the others; rangier, too, with sharp, devious features that immediately put me in mind of some kind of rodent. His hand went to his belt, and there was a subtle, deadly glint of metal in the dark. My heart started pounding in my ears.

"Just do as I say an' we'll be fine," Locke said tensely, "You'd better start moving down the alleyway. Nice 'n slow, like."

"One of them has a knife," I said anxiously.

"What were you expecting, a feather duster?" he replied scornfully, "They'll _all_ have knives! Now get your arse movin’!”

The short man stepped forwards, disappointment etched clearly across his ratlike face.

“We should’ve known that you’d get to him first, Cole!” he said in passable Vectoran, casually toying with a long, wickedly curved blade, “Tell you what, how’s about you ice him here and now and we all split that bounty four ways? No point in making life difficult for any of us, right?”

“Hold on. _Bounty_?” I fixed Locke with a dangerous glare, “What’s going on?”

“Nothin’, pal,” he said, “Jus’ keep moving.”

“Nothing, eh?” the man grinned, “You didn’t know there’s a million gil bounty on your head, kid? Everyone in South Figaro’s lookin’ for you, but _we_ found you first!”

“Actually, yer found him second,” Locke pointed out, “An’ I ain’t lookin’ to collect, if that’s what yer thinkin’. Some of us have a thing against cuttin’ Sentinels down in the street.”

“Then you’re a fool, Cole,” he hissed, and the men behind him exchanged a glance and grinned nastily, “With that bounty you could live like a king!”

“I’ve seen how kings live, Nick. It ain’t all that great,” Locke said casually, “Lots of fillin’ in forms and rubber stampin’ things. Tell you what, how about you put away that shiv an’ go and get a nice, cold pint with yer pals? I’d hate for somebody to get hurt.”

“You know, Cole. Sometimes I just don’t understand you.”

“It’s simple; I ain’t an idiot,” Locke said, “Firstly, look at yer target. Do yer _really_ think that someone like him is _worth_ a million quid?”

“Hey!” I protested, “I do!”

“Yer opinion don’t count, lad,” said Locke, “But Nick, that Wraith were just usin’ that number to lure yer in. The instant you turn up with his hat he’s gonna kill you an’ vanish into the night. You think I ain’t seen it happen before?”

“I guess I’ll have to take my chances, I guess,” said Nick, “For a million, I could-”

“ _Run_ , Tanis!”’

I didn't need to be told twice, and before Locke’s shout had died away I was already half-way down the alleyway towards the promenade. Behind me I heard a curse and a clatter of metal against the cobblestones, and with a burst of energy I redoubled my speed, not stopping until I was back out in the welcoming sunlight. A moment later Locke appeared behind me, breathing quickly from the adrenalin rush and sudden exertion and without another word we both pelted down the street, not stopping until we'd lost them amongst the crowds.

"Start talking, Locke!" I said angrily, “What’s going on? Why is there a _million_ _gil_ _bounty_ on my head?”

"An excellent question, pal!” Locke retorted, “Why’d yer reckon you’ve got a one million gil bounty on your head? It seems like the kinda thing that you’d probably know more about than me!”

“I…” I exhaled, and decided to change tack, “Okay; let’s rewind. Who were _those_ guys?”

“Nick, Dimitris, and Christios,” Locke said, “They’re yer classic thug. Ain’t got a functionin’ brain cell between them, but they know how to hit people in the face _really_ hard.”

“Yeah, they looked the part,” I said, and felt my heart rate slowly return to normal, “So... I’m guessing I’m going to be the target of just about every damn criminal in South Figaro?”

“Not _all_ of them…wait,” Locke paused for a moment, and then said, “Actually, yeah, all of them. Even Garroch was there, and I thought he’d retired three years ago.”

“Was ‘there’? There was a _meeting_?”

“With coffee. Listen, pal, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions, but I’ll tell you all about the people who want you dead when we’re safely away, okay?”

“...fine,” I said, and reflexively ran my fingers over Celes’ hat, “The tram station, right?”

“Aye, but they’ll be expectin’ us to come in through the main entrance…” he paused contemplatively, “Ah; I know! We’ll cut through the art gallery and come in through the service entrance.”

“And they won’t be expecting that?”

“These guys ain’t the brightest bulbs, Tanis,” he said, “They’re used to muggin’ unsuspecting newcomers who haven’t found their way around yet.”

“You mean like me?” I said, a little sourly.

“I weren’t gonna say it, but yeah. But me? I know everywhere and every _one_. No way they’re gonna get the drop on me. If they cotton on, we’ll just have to lure ‘em out and give ‘em a good kicking while their guard’s down, aye?”

“...possibly?”

“Grand,” he said, and pointed down the promenade in the opposite direction to the Aid Station, “Gallery’s over there. Let’s go get off the streets.”

We walked slowly and nonchalantly around the promenade, doing what we could to avoid detection while keeping a careful eye on the constantly shifting and flowing crowds. Locke moved with easy familiarity, nodding to people he apparently knew while providing me with a steady flow of random facts and trivia about the town. By comparison, I was pretty sure I still stuck out like a sore thumb, but at least I was getting a warmer reception than before. For a start, people seemed to be prepared to acknowledge my existence, and while I got more than a few odd looks directed at my hat they were more than offset by the appreciative smiles and nods I got when people saw my uniform.

“Sentinels really _are_ popular around here, aren’t they?” I muttered, “I _never_ got this kind of reception back home.”

“Some Figarans believe that Callista protects this city,” Locke replied, “Yer get all kinds of privileges if yer a Sentinel or a Guardian. Free public transport, discounts at restaurants... it ain’t a bad career choice, pal.”

“There’s that ‘Guardian’ thing again,” I said, “Do Sentinels ‘round here really have their own bodyguards?”

“Like I said before, it weren’t always the safest occupation. You guys down south have the Imperial Army to protect you, but here? It’s not quite so simple. ‘Sides, some people see it as a religious thing.”

“Really? How?”

“Well, Callista’s the goddess of healing an’ protection, ain’t she?” said Locke, “Sentinels don’t fight, so how’re they gonna protect anyone?”

“I always kinda figured that she meant protection from illnesses, not people.”

“That’s the Reformist view. Orthodox Sentinels operate in the boonies as a team; one Sentinel, one Guardian.”

“I bet that extra firepower does wonders for patient compliance,” I said dryly, “How’re we doing, anyway?”

“We’d be doin’ better if you weren’t tryin’ to look in every direction at once. Are you part owl or summat?”

“Very funny. Is anyone _following_ us?”

“Oh, _aye_. I spotted Garroch loiterin’ in an alleyway just five minutes ago, an’ ol’ Nick’s back on our scent. Seems to have lost the other two, though. Probably doesn’t want to share the honour of havin’ his throat slit by a Wraith.”

“After he’s slit _my_ throat, you mean?” 

“Nah, mate, they just want yer hat. Didn’t say anythin’ about yer throat, but then I’d reckon that Nick’d probably provide that service gratis.”

“My hat?” my hand went self-consciously to the beanie, still ensconced firmly on my head, “Why the hat?”

Locke gave me a look that went on just _slightly_ too long to be natural, and then shrugged, “Who can say? Maybe they reckon it’s a crime against fashion.”

“Well, they’re not wrong.”

“So take it off!” he said, “We could wing it up on one of the statues in the art gallery and be out of here before they knew what was goin’ on!”

“I...can’t.”

There was that piercing look again, but this time it was _definitely_ tinged with amusement, “Yer can’t?” 

“I can’t. Sorry.”

“Well, it’s yer throat,” Locke shrugged, and nodded to a large boulevard, leading up away from the water’s edge, “C’mon. Let’s go get ourselves some culture.”

We headed quickly up the large, tree-lined avenue and into an expansive square paved with smooth granite slabs, polished to a mirror sheen. Three old, grand buildings with detailed stone facades and wide perrons lined the square, while in the middle an ornate fountain sprayed water into the air in complex, mesmerising patterns. The place was packed, and the air was filled with the ear-splitting shrieks of children as they chased (or were chased by) the swirling jets of water.

“Government Square,” Locke said, and pointed around the buildings in turn, “Council Chambers, Mayor’s House, and the Artello Memorial Art Gallery.”

“We...may need to push,” I said, staring at the heaving crowd with some uncertainty.

“Then push! This ain’t Vector, pal; sometimes you’ve gotta use your elbows!”

Locke vanished into the crowd, leaving me standing exposed on its edge. Gritting my teeth I dove in after him, and with some effort I managed to cut a swathe of apology through the crush as I tripped, prodded, sidled, slunk, and was eventually violently ejected to land hard on the steps leading into the gallery.

“What is _wrong_ with these people?” I said, to nobody in particular, “What happened to personal space?”

“You okay down there?” a hand appeared in my field of view, which I gratefully accepted, “An’ why’d you apologise to that last guy? He stepped on _your_ foot.”

“I…” I turned around, but the man was already long gone, “Force of habit, I suppose.”

“Hah,” said Locke, “You can take the kid out of Vector, but you can’t take Vector out of the kid.”

“Wareydon, please!” I said, a little haughtily, “Okay, not the _good_ part of Wareydon, but still- hey!”

Locke was already heading up the stairs to the large wooden doors of the gallery, and as I scrambled after him he gave them a hard shove and vanished inside. I followed suit, and found myself in a large, airy hall, with plain white walls and simple wooden flooring. Despite the crowds outside it was so quiet in here that one could hear a pin drop, and it was _cool_. Grateful to be out of the sun, I went to lift my hat to shake the sweat off my hair but caught myself at the last second. No room for errors now.

“C’mon, pal!” my guide waved me over to another pair of large wooden doors, “If we miss the tram, then we’ll have to wait for the next one, an’ if we have to wait for the next one yer can bet a month’s pay that it’ll be packed to the gills with people lookin’ fer a quick payday!”

As if on cue the doors behind me slammed open and ricocheted off their hinges, followed by the heavy tread of boots rushing into the gallery. Locke’s expression suddenly changed to one of alarm.

“Tanis! Get over here!” he shouted as he wrenched open the doors. I sprinted after him as Figaran cries filled the air, and then with a rush of air a knife whipped over my shoulder and embedded itself in the wall, vibrating furiously. I tumbled through the door and hurled myself to the ground just as Locke flung it closed and rammed the bar home.

“On yer feet, pal; that ain’t gonna hold them!” he said sharply, “Move!”

I leapt back up to my feet and we ran down a corridor filled with statues and sculptures. Somewhere far behind us there was a sound of splintering wood and then a steady drumbeat of boots on the wooden floor.

“You know, I’ve _never_ been this popular!” I said, “Not sure I like it much.”

“You an’ me both, pal,” Locke replied, “We’re gonna need to split up while we’ve got the chance.”

“Split up? But-”

“It’ll be fine!” he said quickly, and pointed, “Look, you go hide in that storage closet, an’ when they’ve all gone past wait two minutes, an’ then take the fire escape at the end of this hall. I’ll double back an’ try to catch you, otherwise get on the tram an’ I’ll meet you at the train station!”

“But-!”

“Go!” he said, and shoved me towards the storage closet. I hesitated, unsure if this was the right thing to do, but then opened the door and slipped inside. The air inside stank of chlorine and mold, and I held my breath as the door clicked quietly shut and plunged me into darkness just as the men came charging down the corridor and stopped right outside. A floorboard creaked, uncomfortably close, and then there was a sudden cry and they all took off again. I listened hard as their footfall receded into silence, and then there was nothing aside from the thudding of my heart in my ears. I counted out two minutes as best as I could, and then slowly, carefully opened the storage closet door. There didn’t seem to be anyone around…

“Tanis, was it?” I leapt half out of my skin as Nick emerged from behind a statue. He was brandishing a knife, and another two now hung on his belt, “Interesting name. Don’t hear it much up here.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said. For some reason, I felt strangely calm about this whole ordeal, “I guess you weren’t taken in by us splitting up, then.”

The rangy man snorted, “C’mon. Locke ain’t as smart as he thinks he is, and I’m not as stupid either. The rest of them…well-” he gestured contemptuously off into the distance, “-yeah, sure. They’ll chase anything that pays. I prefer to work alone.”

“And you won’t?” I said, “You still haven’t stopped to wonder why I might be worth a million gil? It might be a _really_ good idea to consider that before you throw that knife.”

“I don’t ask questions like that.”

“Maybe you should.”

“People who do tend to end up dead, boy,” he said, “You never dealt with Imperial Intelligence before?”

“I spent two years in their training programme,” I said, with a chilly smile, “I know _exactly_ what they’re like. Still, I may have...proposition for you.”

He paused for a moment, “Go on.”

“I have...a lot of money on me,” I took Celes’ wallet out of my trouser pocket, and held up a note for his inspection, “Now, you can have _some_ of this money if you agree to go away and forget that you ever saw us. It’s not a million, but you’d be...alive. It’s more than you can say if you take my hat back to your Wraith friend.”

“That sounds like a good offer,” he said, and then an evil smile crossed his face, “But you know what a better proposition would be? I kill you, take _all_ of that money, and then collect the bounty on top of that. What d’ya say?”

With a practiced flick of his hand he hurled his knife straight at my heart. It spun across the room, glinting nastily in the light, and then there was a flash of blue-gold light and a shriek of tortured steel. When the light faded, the sagging, molten blade hung in midair, hissing and snapping as it cooled.

“What the-” he said, and backed away fearfully, “No. No way…”

“So-” I said, and ripped off my hat, “-it turns out, _mate_ -” with a loud _bang_ , two glowing balls appeared in the palms of my hands, “-that maybe you _should_ have asked them why I have a million gil bounty on my head, eh? I think you might have bitten off more than you can chew.”

“M-mage Knight!” he whispered, and then his voice rose to a scream, “Hel-!”

“No thanks,” his scream suddenly became a gasp as I got my mind around his windpipe and gently exerted pressure, “And besides, Nick; I thought you _preferred_ to work alone.”

With a gurgling choke, his hand went to the knives at his belt, but I yanked both of them clean out of his grasp and caught them easily as they spun towards me. They felt good in my hands, warm, well balanced, and _sharp_. My would-be assassin caught my expression as I weighed them up, and his face went pale.

“Please-” he began, but I wasn’t having any of that. With an idle wave of my hand, I hit him full in the chest with a telekinetic blast that flung clean him across the hall. He handed with a nasty-sounding _crunch_ and skidded across the smooth wood floor, finally coming to a half just underneath a very heavy-looking sculpture. It shook unsteadily on its plinth.

“Just be quiet, mate,” I walked towards him, idly twirling the knives in my glowing palms, “I bet you’re thinking that you should’ve taken the money now, right? Oh well; we live and learn - or one of us will, at least.”

He struggled to rise, but I held him firmly in place with my mind as I continued my relentless advance. When I reached him, I straddled his chest almost casually and leaned in close, crossing the blades at his throat. His eyes swivelled desperately in their sockets, and his mouth was working desperately. With what looked like a titanic effort, he finally choked out a single word.

“Sentinel?” I said, and laughed shortly, “C’mon, mate, you _liked_ the fact I was a Sentinel ‘cause it made me an easy target. Not so easy now, right?”

He went very, very still indeed as I carefully pressed down with the knives. I didn’t want to pierce the skin, but on the other hand I _did_ kind of want to make a point...

“Okay, here’s my final offer,” I said, “When I step back, you’re going to get up and walk out of here. No money, no knives...just your life. I think that’s a fair deal, don’t you? Blink once if you agree.”

Nick blinked.

“Great,” I said, “Now-”

There was a gasp from behind and I jerked, tracing a painful red line across Nick’s throat with a blade as I did so. Locke was standing in the doorway, staring at us in shocked silence. Rather belatedly I realised he was staring at _me_ , and even _more_ belatedly I killed the lightshow and quickly crammed my hat back on my head. It was obviously _never_ going to work, but at that point in time I really couldn’t think what else to do.

“Hi!” I said brightly, and quickly got off Nick’s chest, “So…um...you…”

“I see you got him... Branford,” Locke said carefully, and came close enough to prod Nick with an exploratory toe, “You paralysed him with magic or summat?”

“I…Branford?” I blinked, “Wait; you’re not surprised?”

“‘Course I’m not surprised!” Locke suddenly burst out laughing, “A bedraggled Sentinel with a Wareydon accent turns up in South Figaro barely a day after a Mage Knight has ‘died’ in IAF Wareydon, wearin’ a hat they ain’t takin’ off under any circumstances? You’d have to be an _idiot_ not to put those things together!” he said, and knelt down beside my captured thug, “Y’know, like Nick here. Hey, Nick; how does it feel to have missed all the _really_ obvious signs?”

“You knew _all along?_ ” 

“Nah, not _all_ along,” he said easily, “There were maybe ten seconds when I weren’t quite sure, but then I saw yer eyes glowin’ in the shade and-”

“Goddess!” I yanked the hat off my head and stuffed it in a trouser pocket, “You let me cook under that thing for the fun of it? Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“‘Cause I didn’t want you to bolt? Or panic and fry me?” he said, “‘Sides, I did _tell_ you to take it off. Not my fault if you ignored me.”

“I…you know what? Fine!” I ran my fingers through my hair, and did my best to shake the sweat out, “What happens now?”

“What do you mean, what happens now?” Locke looked a little puzzled, “I agreed to help you out, an’ we have a tram to catch. We might still catch it if we hurry.”

“And what about those other men?” 

“Ah, they’ll be millin’ around outside again. Nick here ain’t exactly the Brains of Figaro, but he’s a godsdamn genius compared to those idiots. What were you planning on doing with him, by the way? Slit his throat?”

He looked down and I realised I was still holding the pair of blades, one still red with Nick’s blood. I quickly threw them to the floor and stepped away.

“No!” I said sharply, “I’m a Sentinel! I was going to let him go…”

“Bad idea, pal. Nick here holds a grudge. If you let him go he’ll be back with more men an’ more knives, and he’ll jus’ keep comin’ until he wins!”

“Even so, I’m _not_ going to kill him. That’s not the way.”

“You mean it ain’t _your_ way.”

“I’m sorry,” I said flatly, “Which one of us was the superpowered Mage Knight again? It seems to have slipped my mind.”

“Ah, point taken,” Locke laughed again, and stood up, “Yer gonna let him go, then?”

“I suppose I should,” I sighed, and carefully eased off on the pressure. Nick suddenly relaxed against the floor, gasping, and then fixed me with an evil look.

“Can’t...kill me...eh?” he said breathlessly, “That’s a _really_ big mistake, friend. You _know_ I’ll be back.”

“And what’re you gonna _do_ ?” I gave him a confused look, “Did I accidentally wipe your short term memory? I had you on the floor, at my mercy, without even _trying_. What do you really think is going to happen a second time? You think that Imperial Intelligence is gonna part with the kind of specialist equipment you’d need to bring me down?”

“He’s got a point, pal,” Locke leaned conversationally against the plinth. The sculpture rocked unsteadily yet again, “I know you ain’t the sort to back down, but right now I’d _really_ consider your position.”

“Ah, screw you, Cole,” Nick said, “What, you think this freak’s gonna let you kill me when he’s too chicken to do it himself?”

“I dunno,” Locke gave me a quick look, “Are you?”

“No!” I said firmly, “No killing of anyone, _by_ anyone! Are we all clear?”

“Well, I guess he’s calling the shots. Not like I’d do any better fightin’ him than you, Nick,” Locke shrugged and stretched expansively, “I guess we’re going to have to let you...oh-”

His shoulder brushed against the sculpture, rather harder than one might have expected for a simple stretch. It rocked once, twice, and before I could stop it it toppled off the pedestal and plummeted straight towards Nick’s head. His eyes went wide, and he had just enough time to scream before being silenced with a brutal _‘crunch_ ’, and as I closed my eyes and turned away I felt something rushing through my ears. When I finally regained the courage to open my eyes and look, his body was lying limply on the floor, while blood slowly seeped out from underneath the sculpture.

 _“_ Holy Callista! _Locke!_ ” I shouted angrily, “You...you-”

“Oops,” he said, and looked regretfully at the sculpture, “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have-”

“This is a genuine Lewitt, yer know. I hope I ain’t damaged it.”

“You-I-you-...him!” I sputtered, and finally bit out, “You kind of _damaged his head_ , Locke! You murdered him!”

“No I didn’t!” he protested.

“Yes you bloody well did!” I snapped, “Unless I’m just imagining all this blood and skull fragments on this...snail thing which you pushed on his head!”

“Genuine Lewitt. And it ain’t my fault they put this priceless sculpture on such a rickety plinth! It were an accident waiting to happen!”

“Yeah, sure. It just _happened_ to happen when his head was in the prime place for… _that!_ ” I looked at the corpse again, and shuddered, “Are you _insane_?”

“Nah, pal, I jus’ know how the world works. I know until recently you’ve been nice an’ cosy inside yer safe base, but yer out in the real world now, an’ yer being hunted by some bad people! Sure, some of ‘em are jus’ stupid, like the guys I led out the back, but some of ‘em are bona-fide bastards-” he waved at Nick’s headless corpse, “-an’ some of ‘em are worse than that. You turn yer back on ‘em, and I guarantee you that sooner or later there’ll be a knife stickin’ out of it!”

“So...it’s kill or be killed, is it?” I asked sharply.

“Not always,” he said, “But sometimes you ain’t got much choice.”

“Well, it seems like we had a choice _here_! He wasn’t a danger to us!”

“This was an accident! Seriously!” Locke said, “I mean, I ain’t gonna lose much sleep over it, but I didn’t actually mean to kill him! Nick’s one of them bastards, true enough, but he’s had his uses in the past.”

“You promise?” I said, and he nodded sincerely, “ _Really_ promise?”

“On my ma’s life,” he said, “An’ I gotta say, yer don’t seem _that_ upset by it. Most people would’ve run off screaming.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a cadaver. I mean, c’mon, I’m a Sentinel,” I pointed out, “It’s just that I’ve never seen one actually being... _made_ . Anyway, I suppose that we should probably... _not_ be here when someone investigates all this commotion, right?”

“I don’t reckon they’ll find it until the evenin’,” said Locke, “But I might just tip off the police on our way out of town. Don’t wanna traumatise the poor cleaner.”

“Sure,” I said, and stared once again at Nick’s corpse. Now that the rush of adrenaline and anger was starting to subside, I could feel a sense of numbness creeping in, “Could I have done anything differently, you think? Maybe-”

“Don’t beat yerself up over it, pal,” Locke said, gently, “Yer did fine. And ‘sides, it’s not every day I get to see a Mage Knight in action. I bet he didn’t see _that_ coming!”

“Well, no,” I said, and sighed, “I don’t want to be in here anymore, Locke. Can we go?”

“Aye, lad. It’s just this way. C’mon…”

As we left, I kept turning what Locke had said over and over in my head. He was right; this _wasn’t_ my cosy little base. Sure, maybe IAF Wareydon hadn’t been up to much, but at least it had been _safe_ . Until last week I could say, hand on heart, that nobody had ever hunted me down on the orders of a bunch of sociopathic assassins. Here? Not so much, and not only had they known I’d been coming, but they’d known far enough in advance that they were able to set up a meeting with the local underground and turn loose the hounds as soon as I’d come through the gates. Once they realised that I’d survived, what would they do next? Would they come for me personally? Would they just keep on escalating until I was dead? It _seemed_ likely, given what I knew of Imperial Intelligence, but I just wasn’t sure. I didn’t know enough.

Maybe this was why the station commander had dragged Locke into all this. I was pretty sure _he_ knew and while I wasn’t entirely sure I trusted him yet, he’d definitely done a lot to endear himself to me in a comparatively short period of time. It was odd that he had agreed to work for free, too; I definitely got a rather mercenary air about him, but...maybe he was being paid by someone else? Hmm. 

Well...nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

“Hey, Locke?” I shook myself out of my reverie, and caught up with the departing man, “I’ve got some questions for you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. The Two Meter Rule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my thanks to my Beta Reader, VallasRevas, without whom this would look very different and also probably quite badly misspelled.

So...let's recap! I ended up in a far flung foreign city in a weird costume, got completely lost, had a minor meltdown, threw in with someone who knew the local area, ended up half-naked at an aid station, and then almost got stabbed in a back alley brawl. When you think about it, there really isn't all that much separating my adventures in South Figaro from your average stag do. I mean, sure, there's generally more paintballing and less bounty hunters (unless you've gotten _really_ esoteric) but if Locke and I had been chased through a nightclub rather than an art gallery you'd probably struggle to tell the difference.

That aside, you might be wondering why I, having had such a terrible first experience of South Figaro, eventually chose to make it my home. In fairness, that's not _quite_ true (I live on the outskirts, in a charming little village called Eleusis) but every day I hop on my bike and fight my way through the same impossibly thick crowds all the way down to the Royal Figaran Hospital. Despite everything that's happened, you've _got_ to admire the resiliency of the South Figarans; eight years on, they're still loud, self-absorbed, and (I've since discovered) have an understanding of road traffic laws that would shame a five year old. Having almost been knocked off my bike by both cars and pedestrians more times than I can count, I'm pretty sure I'd be completely justified in welding axe blades to my wheels and charging down Kavalas Avenue like the world's most middle-class magically-enhanced post-apocalyptic road warrior. Try selling me traffic light fish then, Kostas!

Still, while I have no doubt that that would be extremely (if temporarily) gratifying, the fact remains that their intransigence is a large part of _why_ I decided to settle here. When the dust settled and everything was squared away, I spent a couple of years being bounced around the globe doling out aid (and Sentinel-related propaganda) to just about everyone who stuck around long enough to listen. During that period I spent quite a lot of time navel-gazing, and while Terra frequently invited me to move in with her and her kids I very quickly realised that that was probably coming from a subconscious desire for things to go back to How They Were. Had I taken her up on it, I've absolutely no doubt that we'd have ended up as a pair of creepy, co-dependent twins getting on each other's nerves and raising a bunch of orphans on the edge of civilisation. What I _really_ wanted was independence, and so as soon as I could I took a posting that was literally on the opposite side of the planet, in a city that serves my temperament about as well as an erupting volcano serves the All Comers Narshian Annual Ice Sculpting Competition. I'm sorry, Tee, but you know that it was the right thing to do.

That being said, there were several times in that first year when I _seriously_ considered taking her up on her offer. South Figaro was noisy, crowded, and thanks to my (recently acquired) celebrity I was being constantly harangued during work, after work, and even at the Sentinel barracks. After eleven months of that I was a frayed wreck, and when I _finally_ moved to Eleusis I needed to take an entire month off just to decompress. That move proved to be an excellent choice, though, as it meant that I could both appreciate the hustle and bustle of the city while having a quiet, peaceful hole to crawl back into at the end of the day. I also discovered something about the Figarans; while they might _seem_ self-absorbed, it's actually because they genuinely give their all to the people inside their bubble. If you're able to actually break into one of those, you'll find some of the friendliest, most helpful people you could ever hope to meet. They'll lift you up when you're down, almost always have a funny story to tell, and think absolutely nothing about inviting (read: dragging) you into their parties, houses, and lives. For a Vectoran like me, that's a godsdamn blessing...and if they could just collectively work out what the little red glowy eye on the traffic light means, then we'd be golden.

One final little point before we move on. That art gallery we were just in? Yesterday, my fiancee held a (staggeringly successful) exhibition there, including the first showcase of some of _her_ most recent works! I would like to invite you, the reader, to applaud rapturously both for my darling beloved _and_ for the team who did such an amazing job reinstating that blood-stained hardwood floor. Unless you know _exactly_ what to look for, you'd never know anything was wrong.

* * *

Although I had a whole forest of questions, it was pretty clear that they were going to have to wait. We wasted no time in quickly and quietly sneaking out the fire escape into yet another small alleyway, and from there entered the tram station through a disused, squeaky iron door that felt like it probably should have been more locked than it actually was. I followed him down an old, dusty corridor and up a flight of stairs to yet another door, but as he put his hand on the handle he stopped and turned to me.

"Better put on yer hat, pal," he said, "I know it's horrible, but the only people who'll know what it _really_ means are them's who attended that meeting. For everyone else, I reckon that a Sentinel with green hair'd be more memorable. People ain't used to things like that."

"Tell me about it," I sighed, and quickly pulled the sweaty, smelly hat out of my pocket, "And before you ask, we _did_ try to dye it. Well, my sister did; she got tired of the nicknames."

"And?"

"It undyed itself. From root to tip in thirty six hours. It was really weird to watch."

"Well, when we get to the train station we'll have to look into gettin' another hat," he said, "If we get a grey one, I reckon people'll just think it's a non-standard Sentinel beret."

"Good idea," I said, and tugged the hat down hard, "Everything covered?"

"It'll do," he said, "Now come on. Tram'll be leavin' soon."

Locke carefully opened the door, peeked, and then quickly slipped through, gesturing for me to do the same. As we hurried across the small, simple platform to the small, simple tram a shrill whistle pierced the air, and we slipped between the doors just as they slid firmly shut. A couple of fellow travellers looked up curiously as we found our way to a pair of empty seats, but returned to their own activities without further comment.

"Phew!" he said, and flopped down on a well-worn seat, "That were cuttin' it a bit fine!"

I nodded silently and sat beside him. A moment later, there was a 'clunk' from somewhere in the undercarriage and then the tram was rolling silently out of the station and onto the street, slowly picking up speed as it went. Before long, the brilliant white buildings of South Figaro were a blur, and then we burst out into a world of gently rolling farmland. Deep brown, freshly turned fields stretched off into the horizon, separated by low stone walls and olive groves, while grand manor houses sparkled on the hilltops. Occasionally I saw someone working in the fields, sweating beneath broad brimmed hats, but aside from them the plains seemed completely empty, a deserted dreamland lost in shimmering heat.

"Comin' up for the hottest part of the day," Locke muttered, apparently catching my puzzled glance, "Smart people're inside."

"You mean, people who aren't us?" I asked dryly. At the sound of my voice a number of passengers looked around sharply, and Locke gave me a gentle nudge.

"Listen, pal," he said quietly, "Yer speakin' Vectoran, in a Vectoran accent, while wearin' a Sentinel uniform an' a horrible yellow hat. I know yer got a tonne of questions, an' so do I, but try an' keep it down, aye? Let's try not to draw attention."

I nodded.

"Good," he said, "'Cause while it were knives in South Figaro, out here it'll likely be guns."

I felt a sudden chill and looked quickly around at the other passengers. For the most part they looked pretty innocuous; some were clearly dressed for work, while others were out with their families or, based on their luggage, taking longer trips. Even so, those thugs in South Figaro hadn't exactly stood out…

"Calm down, pal," Locke said, "Yer not gonna do us any favours if yer have an aneurysm."

" _Well, maybe don't talk about gun wielding assassins, then!"_ I hissed, _"Why_ didn't _they use guns in South Figaro, anyway?"_

"You saw the crowds, didn't you? You stab someone an' its possible you can vanish back into the crowd. If yer try to shoot someone, yer'll probably hit someone _else_ by accident an' yer might start a stampede," he snorted, "The police take a _really_ dim view of that."

"But they're okay with stabbing?"

"It's more precise. If someone gets killed in South Figaro, chances are it's related to a family or business feud, an' the police know _all_ about who's having it out with who. It might look like bedlam, but ain't much happens by chance in that city. Yer just gotta know what to look for."

"If you say so," I murmured, and then leant back with a sigh and closed my eyes, "If I never see that place again as long as I live, it'll be too soon."

We hummed and bumped through the farmland for another fifteen to twenty minutes, and then I felt the brakes engage with a slight jolt. A short while later, the tram came to a halt next to a rather crowded platform, and we dutifully got off and forced our way through the throng of individuals apparently desperate to get back to the madhouse. From there, it was a short walk down a simple, covered walkway lined with vibrant pink peonies to a grand, semi-circular plaza. Two fountains stood directly before us, jetting water overhead in scintillating arcs, while across the plaza itself bright, colourful stalls were laid out in neat lines. Each was packed to the gills with various knick-knacks and random goods, and there were the now-familiar cries of vendors hawking their wares. Beyond _them_ , though, was-

"Wow," I said, and rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

-the grandeur of South Figaro's train station. Even as someone who had seen St. Padaston, I was impressed. Before us stood a dramatic arch of wrought steel and glass panes that caught the light and reflected it into dazzling and hypnotic patterns on the stones below. The metal was more than just simple steel rods, though, it somehow seemed to _flow_ , with each piece woven together to form a seamless, elegant curve without beginning or end. People streamed continuously through two grand, gilded doors that stood slightly apart under the apex of the span, and above them, the words 'Kallikrates International' were spelt out in silvery letters that glowed brilliantly, almost painfully in the noonday sun.

"Impressed?" Locke said, in a tone of distinct amusement.

"Well…" I thought about it for a moment, "St. Padaston is bigger."

"Aye, an' a damn eyesore. Size ain't everythin'."

"I'll leave that between you and whoever you were trying to convince, mate," I said, "But St. Padaston _is_ still bigger. Vectoran engineering's the finest in the world, you know."

"Oh yeah? Who says that?"

"Well, ah...mostly Vectorans," I admitted, and cast around for _some_ criticism I could level at the admittedly gorgeous design, "But...this plaza really _should_ be covered. What if it's raining?"

"If it were covered, where could yer get yer cheap touristy tat?" Locke pointed out the vendors and their wares, "Speaking of which…"

"You think we're going to find someone who's selling hats _here_?"

"You'd be surprised what yer can find here, pal," Locke said, "If nothin' else, we need some water. When was the last time yer had something to drink?"

"I…" I thought about this. When _was_ the last time I'd had something to drink?

"If yer have to think, it's been too long," he said seriously, "And I ain't gonna help my reputation if I let you die of dehydration. Yer got any money on you?"

"I...um…" with a self-conscious little smile, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Celes' wallet for Locke's inspection, "I was given this. It's got...well, take a look."

It wasn't until I handed it over that I realised how naive I'd just been, but luckily Locke just opened it surreptitiously and then slammed it shut just as quickly, his eyes wide.

"Sod!" he said, and handed the wallet back to me, "D'ya know how much is in there? Who'd you get this from?"

"A...friend?"

"Yer'll have to introduce me someday," he said, "Someone who can throw this kind of money away is clearly someone worth knowin'. Now c'mon, and let me do the talkin'."

I followed Locke into the small bazaar, and immediately found myself lost in a sea of bright awnings and chaotic noise. Merchants were everywhere, selling things from clothes to books to food to spices, and all of them seemed to want my attention. As I looked desperately for my erstwhile guide I found myself repeatedly accosted, through shouts, tugs at my uniform or even having goods rammed hard under my nose by hopeful salespeople with bright, cheery smiles. I did my best to fend them off, but they were absolutely _relentless_. Where the hell was Locke?

"Hat. Hat and water," I muttered under my breath. If I couldn't find that blasted guy, then I was just going to have to do this myself. In the middle distance I thought I spied a small stall that had several on sale in amongst a pile of sunglasses and bottle openers, and with an apologetic smile wrenched myself free of my current captor and surged across the stalls towards my target. The vendor, an elderly woman with a well-lined face, looked up and gave me a bright smile as I approached.

"Kalimera!" she said.

"Um, kalimera," I replied, "Um...hat?"

"Hat?" she said curiously.

"Hat," I said again, and pointed to my beanie, "Hat."

"Oh, kapélo!" she gave me a toothy smile and gestured at her wares, "For you? Two thousand."

There was a strangled gasp from behind me, and I looked quickly to see Locke bearing two bottles of water.

"Two thousand? C'mon, Macaria, you're havin' a laugh!" he said, and her expression suddenly darkened, "I wouldn't pay more than five hundred for one of these! Look at this workmanship; yer call this a cross-stitch?"

"Quality work!" she protested, in only slightly broken Vectoran, "My sister made these herself!"

"Then you should sack yer sister."

"Tell you what; one thousand eight hundred."

"I'll give you six hundred. The embroidery's lopsided," he picked one up and scowled theatrically, "Is this even _real_ cotton?"

"Of course! You think I'm some kind of crook?"

"I _know_ yer some kind of crook! Yer trying to charge my naive, foolish friend-"

"-hey!-" I complained.

"-two thousand for some half-stitched bodge job!"

"Do you want my children to starve?"

"What, when they get home from the office?" he gave her a wry grin, "You ain't changed that strategy in thirty years, have you?"

"If it isn't broken, why fix it? " she smiled, "One thousand four hundred."

"One thousand," he said, and pointed at my uniform, "He _is_ a Sentinel. You want Callista to hear that yer overcharging her loyal servants?"

"Pah! Sentinels! What do I care about a dead Goddess?" she waved her hand dismissively, but quickly added, "One thousand three hundred."

"One thousand one hundred, an' that's only 'cause we're in a hurry."

"Deal!" she said, and there was a _clink_ as money changed hands, "Whichever one you want, Sentinel."

"Um...thanks?" I said uncertainly. I wasn't quite sure what had just happened, and I was _equally_ unsure who had emerged on top, but with some care I selected a silvery grey beanie that seemed to be in good nick and tucked it away in a pocket, "Shall we go?"

"Aye," he said, "Cya later, Macaria."

"And good day to you, Cole," she said, with that toothy grin of hers, "Do be sure to stop by the shop the next time you're in town."

Locke led the way out of the bazaar, muttering darkly to himself, while I stayed close and tried not to be separated again by the shifting tides of people and merchandise. Just before we reached the entrance to the terminus he spun around and pinned me with an annoyed look.

"Jus' so yer know, I could've easily gotten that hat for seven hundred."

"Okay," I shrugged, "I mean, I was going to pay two thousand for it, so-"

"I know you were. Macaria must've thought she'd died and gone to heaven when she saw you comin' over!"

"Oh yeah? What do you mean by _that_?"

"That you're the perfect mark?"

"No I'm bloody well not!"

"Oh, no? Let's see, pal; a young, fresh-faced Sentinel with big, kind eyes and an' innocent air? Yer may as well be a baby gazelle skippin' through pride of lions!"

"She wasn't that bad!"

" _Macaria_ ain't, but I still reckon that if she told yer that guff about her starvin' kids, you'd have paid up straight away and probably given her somethin' extra jus' for them!"

"Come _on_ , Locke!" I snapped defensively, but from his expression he clearly knew he'd hit home, "I'm not a total imbecile! I got _this_ far, didn't I?"

"An' how much of that were under yer own steam, pal?" Locke gave me a calculating look, "Yer can correct me if yer want, but I get the feelin' like I'm just the latest player in an international game of 'pass the parcel'."

"I...well..." I thought about it for a moment. Celes _had_ broken me out of that cell, and then Anceleti and Jade _had_ flown me to Tzen, and then there was Setzer… "It was a team effort!"

"Figures," he said, and sighed, "Look, pal, I know that this is all gotta be really confusin' for yer, an' I know yer didn't get out much. I can't imagine that they taught yer much about the real world, either."

I thought about this for a moment. Aside from the occasional trip to Vector or even more occasional trips further afield, our world had basically ended at the gates of IAF Wareydon, "Yeah...you're probably right."

"So what yer need to do is stick close to me, listen to what I'm sayin' and try to pick up on how things _really_ work. Until that bounty comes off yer head it's not like we'll be able to hang out in polite society, so yer may end up havin' a crash course tour of the seedier side of life, too. Jus' so you know, it ain't no place for an innocent young Sentinel like yerself."

"Isn't it?" I said, "Too bad for them, then. They're just going to have to be more accommodating."

Locke gave me a long look, and then laughed, "I like yer spirit, kid. Maybe next time yer could use that on Macaria instead of lettin' me ruin my street cred, eh? She's gonna tell everyone I've lost my edge."

"Maybe you have," I said, "After all, you're doing this for free."

"Who said I'm doin' it for free, pal?" he said, "An' sides, there's more important things than money."

"Like what?"

"Follow me, an' maybe yer'll find out."

* * *

While I had (grudgingly) admitted that Kallikrates International _was_ prettier than St. Padaston, the part of me still carrying a torch for the Empire was holding out hope that the interior wouldn't live up to the exterior. As soon as we set foot through the gilded doors, I was strangely delighted to discover I was completely right.

"Ah, yeah," Locke said, "It... _may_ not be completely finished, yet."

"You don't say."

It had to be said, the bits that _were_ finished showed great promise. The main area was both carefully designed and well outfitted, with large, comfortable-looking red chairs sitting in ordered rows before an ever-shifting board of arrivals and departures. Beyond that, however, the station was clearly in need of some additional love. The soft, durable carpet gave way to a vast expanse of smooth, unpolished concrete, interspersed with columns glistening with fresh red paint and cordoned off with red and black warning tape. A small collection of shops had been established near the departures area, including a small cafe, but they seemed lost and lonesome against the far greater number of empty storefronts and signs proudly bearing the words 'Coming Soon!' in large Figaran letters.

"Right, pal. Toilets're over there," Locke said, and pointed to a pair of doors set into a distant wall, "Go an' change yer hat. I'll find out when our train's goin' and then go get us some lunch."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," I said. Sam's omelette had been amazing, but it had also been the only thing I'd eaten in the past forty-eight hours. Doris' porridge, I decided, didn't qualify, "See you in the cafe!"

I set off for the toilets across the concrete expanse. If nothing else, I'd be very glad to be rid of Celes' hat. It had been horrible to begin with, and the various abuses of my travels hadn't done much to improve its appearance _or_ its comfort. The accumulated mass of salt and sand was starting to cause some seriously chronic itching, and even the _thought_ of having to wear this thing all the way to Castle Sacae was enough to fill me with dread.

The toilets were large, functional, and empty, but rather than take any chances I quickly slipped into a stall and yanked the offending article off my head. There was a shower of grit, and then another as I ran my fingers through my hair and shook out whatever else I could. Short of a long, hot shower and access to a chisel, I wasn't going to be making any headway against the strata of sweat and grime that was plastered to my skin, and with a small sigh I put the new hat on and quickly checked it in the mirror to make sure my hair was fully covered. After a cursory examination, I had to admit that it didn't look all that bad; a little baggy, perhaps, but the colour matched my uniform well enough that from a distance I'd look just like a rebellious trainee Sentinel - just like Locke'd said.

Locke...now there was a bloody puzzle. The guy couldn't be _that_ much older than me, surely? How was it that he seemed to know (and be known by) just about everyone we'd met, up to and including random vendors in the street? More to the point, if he'd declined the offer of payment by the Sentinels, and he said he wasn't doing this for free, just who _was_ he being paid by? Even _more_ to the point, why had his paymasters decided that _he_ was their best choice for escorting someone with an enormous bounty on their head across the Figaran continent, dodging hired thugs and (presumably) the steadily growing wrath of Imperial Intelligence? To me, it felt like that job should probably fall to a grizzled pillar of testosterone with biceps like bowling balls and a handy book of one-liners, rather than a bloke who's skillset apparently revolved around getting chintzy tat at discount prices. On the other hand, he'd gotten us this far (although that wasn't, admittedly, very far), and alternatives weren't exactly coming in thick and fast…

My mind was still turning over and over when I emerged from the toilets and spotted Locke sitting out in front of the cafe with a pair of shrink-wrapped sandwiches to go with our bottled water. He appeared to be deeply engrossed in a newspaper, but looked up at my approach and gave the hat an approving nod.

"Much better," he said, "Much...less yellow."

"Great," I said, and as I sat down beside him my stomach gave a warning rumble, "Excuse me, but I think I'm _actually_ starving. What is this?"

"Cheese an' lettuce," he said, "I weren't sure if yer were a vegetarian or not. Yer kinda have that air about you, so…"

"Thanks, but I'm not," I tore into the cellophane wrapper and took a big bite out of the sandwich. The cheese was a little sweaty and the lettuce a bit limp, but to my deprived tastebuds it may as well have been a seven-course banquet, "Everyone in the 'Services is a 'Eat-what-you're-given'-arian, and any vegetables were always boiled into a thin grey mush."

"I've heard rumors," he took a swig of his water, "Anyway, I've looked into getting us a couple of tickets to Castle Sacae. The good news is that there's one leavin' in half an hour; express sleeper to Katastari International."

"And the bad news?"

"The only tickets left are for first class an' they're gonna cost an arm and a soddin' leg. We're probably gonna need to use yer...beneficiary's funds."

"For first class tickets?" I winced, "Celes is going to have a fit when she sees the receipts."

"Celes?" he looked around quickly and then leaned in conspiratorially, "Yer don't mean...General Celestine Chere, do yer?"

"The very same. We grew up together. Sorta."

"'Cause she's a Mage Knight too?"

"Magitek Knight, please," I sniffed, " _I'm_ a Mage Knight. She's the cheap, Domanian knock-off variant."

"Yer know I've seen pictures, right? Of the two of yer, she ain't the one I'd be describin' as 'cheap'."

"I thought so too, until she gave me that hat," I shuddered, "Anyway, I guess it can't be helped. If I said it was so we'd be away from prying eyes, she'd probably buy that."

"An' the extra comfort and fine dinin' is just a happy bonus?"

"Exactly," I dug out Celes' wallet, "So how much are those tickets?"

"About...eighty thousand?"

"Eighty _thous-_ _Holy Callista_!" I choked, "She's gonna have my head for this!"

"Well, if it's a choice between her swingin' the axe an' Imperial Intelligence, there ain't really much competition. At least she might let yer take it home in a bucket," he said, "Can I look at that wallet?"

Still a little shocked by the prospect of spending more money than I had ever seen, I handed over the wallet and Locke quickly flipped it open. He paused, and then smiled briefly.

"Hey, yer seen this picture?"

"No, and I don't think you should be poking around in her stuff," I said piously, before completely ruining it by adding, "What picture?"

He flipped the wallet around, to show me a little black and white photograph, held securely behind a clear plastic window. I immediately recognised it as one Cid had taken just last March, on Celes' eighteenth birthday, and it showed Celes blowing out the candles on a simple birthday cake while Terra and I looked on with big, happy smiles. As I stared I felt a sudden, painful wrench deep inside and then tears were pricking at my eyes.

"Oh, yeah; I remember that," I said, with a watery smile, "When she turned eighteen there was this big General's bash that Terra and I weren't invited to, but after a couple of hours she and Cid slipped away back to his base office. We made her a chocolate cake - well, _I_ made the cake, and Terra made the candles."

"Oh, yer can cook?"

"I had help," I smiled wistfully, "My XO groused and groused about it, but she gave in when she realised that it was a choice between helping out and letting me wreck the squadron's kitchen. The hardest part was actually finding some damn chocolate; I had to trade an entire month being her tea boy for her getting some in from Albrook, and she drinks near-lethal levels of the stuff."

"Vector would've been cheaper, yer know."

"But the best chocolate comes from Albrook," I countered, "Besides, it was worth it. I don't think I've ever seen Celes' face light up quite like when she saw that cake; honestly, I thought she was going to burst into tears."

"That's...sweet."

"It's Celes. People hear that R.P. accent of hers and see her clothes and assume that she's all about the pomp and circumstance, but she isn't. She _hates_ big parties; always has done. Give her a small group and she's happy as Larry."

"Yeah, I know the sort," he said, and gave the photo another look, "An' it's interestin' that of all the pictures she _could've_ had in her wallet, she had one of you three together. Says a lot, doesn't it?"

"Celes cares in funny ways," I said, and added wryly, "Mostly by never actually telling you that she _does_. I guess it's tough, when you're a General."

"It's lonely at the top, pal - not that I'd ever know," he said, "But hold on to that photograph. It's probably the most valuable thing in that whole wallet. Y'know, aside from all the money."

"You mean the money that we're about to use to fund a luxury tour of Figaro?" I said tartly, "You _do_ know that somewhere she'sjust woken up in a cold sweat, right?"

"Then we'd better make it count, aye? C'mon; finish that drink an' we'll go get those tickets."

The lady manning the ticket counter was very clearly from Albrook; in fact her looks and general demeanour immediately put me in mind of Celes, albeit a Celes who was ten to fifteen years older. She was wearing a seriously impressive pair of horn-rimmed glasses, which she stared over in an impressively intimidating manner as we approached. She gave Locke a brief, dismissive glance, but her gaze softened as she turned to regard my uniform. Nevertheless, I still felt a very slight chill as her eyes swept over me, pausing momentarily to inspect my face and then my silvery new beanie. A moment later, her face split open into a broad, megawatt smile, revealing two rows of gleaming, pearly white teeth.

"Good afternoon, ma Sentinelle!" she said, in an enthusiastic tone, "I do 'ope you are having a pleasant day!"

"Um, hi," I said, "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see someone from Albrook manning a ticket booth. You're a long way from home."

"And you are not?"

"...fair point."

"I must say, I 'ave not talked to anyone from Vector in several years!" she continued convivially, "'ow is it down there?"

"Grey and rainy," I said, "Y'know, business as usual."

"Well, it is often said that Vectorans invaded the rest of us to get away from that terrible weather," she said, and then her face darkened slightly, "'ave you heard what happened in Maranda? Nasty business with those Titans. Still, I 'eard a Sentinel was the one who managed to put a stop to it!"

"I'm pretty sure it was a combined effort," I said shortly, "Sentinels don't fight."

"Oui, of course," she bobbed her head, "And what 'appened to that Mage Knight? Simply terrible; I hear his poor sister is 'eartbroken. Out for revenge, they say."

"Yeah, it's a right mess alright," Locke said briskly, "Now...about those tickets?"

"...oui, Monsieur Cole," her smile suddenly vanished, "As I 'ave said, the only tickets we 'ave left are in first class. Now, I am sure that we can make room for your Sentinel friend here on the next trip, per'aps in the guard compartment, but unless you can pay then I am afraid you will 'ave to travel separately. The next train will depart in six hours."

"Nice of you to be so accommodating. Don't yer need to see his Sentinel ID to issue free passage?"

"Oui, normally," she agreed, "But 'e is _clearly_ a Sentinel, is he not? I think I could waive the requirement just this once."

"Don't worry, lass," he said, "We wouldn't want to get yer in trouble."

"Oh, it would be no trouble," she said, and gently tapped a little figurine of Callista, sat surreptitiously by the till, "I am always 'appy to help our brothers and sisters in silver. They once saved my brother's life."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, "But we'll be takin' those first class tickets. Turns out we have the money after all."

"You 'ave eighty thousand?" for a moment, the ticket lady seemed genuinely taken aback, "But-"

"One moment," Locke flipped open a wallet - _Celes'_ wallet, I realised with some surprise - and handed her a pair of notes; one orange, the other bright blue. For just an instant I thought I saw a look of annoyance flicker across the ticket lady's face, but she recovered magnificently.

"Of course, monsieur," she said, flashing that brilliant smile of hers once again, "Just one moment while I book your cabin. I believe there is just one remaining."

"Ain't that lucky, eh?" Locke said, handing me back Celes' wallet. I put it away, making damn sure that this time I zipped the pocket.

"Oh yeah. 'Lucky' is basically my defining characteristic," I said sourly, "I just hope that this isn't going to help Imperial Intelligence pick up our trail. I feel like she's going to remember this."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about _that_ , pal."

"Really? You think we've lost them?"

"Don't be stupid; they knew where you were goin' before _you_ did, didn't they? What I meant was 'I wouldn't worry about her helpin' them pick up our trail, 'cause they're already on it'."

"Ah," I said, and followed it up with, "Oh."

"Exactly. It's like they say, pal, as a rule yer never more than two meters from a Wraith."

"Don't you mean 'rat'?"

"Same difference. Look, pal, yer don't escape the Wraths, 'least not for long, so-"

"All booked! Cabin twenty two!" the ticket woman said brightly, and handed Locke the tickets, "If you would like I can also arrange your onward tickets. I assume that you're 'eaded to Castle Sacae?"

"What makes you think that?" I said defensively, and winced as her lips twisted in triumph.

"It is my job to know where people are going, ma Sentinelle!" she said, "You just make it easier than most."

"That's quite a talent you've got there…" Locke peered at her nametag, "Amara?"

"Oui!" Amara said cheerfully, "I 'ave a lot of experience in such things, Monsieur Cole, and I am rarely wrong."

"You ain't the only one, lass," he said, "Thank yer for the tickets."

"Not at all. I _do_ 'ope you have a… most productive trip."

* * *

The train platforms themselves were accessed through a row of turnstiles, at which stood a heavy-set guard who looked like he had been hewn from a nearby quarry. He inspected our tickets dubiously, gave us an even _more_ dubious look, and with a slightly sullen rumble finally stepped aside and let us through. Beyond the turnstiles, everyone was funnelled into a cramped tunnel, made of plasterboard and scaffolding, and then emerged onto a long platform alongside which sat an ornate train decked out in green and red filigree. The carriages were clearly well-used, and although the paint had long since been sandblasted and sun-bleached into a shadow of their original glory, the wheels and undercarriage positively _gleamed_. A team of technicians were swarming over the nearby carriages, obviously giving them one last once-over before the grand journey, and I leapt to one side as a man came clattering through with a trolley bearing several heavy duty toolboxes.

"The Katastari Express," said Locke, and gave me an amused look, "Got anything longer in Vector?"

"Well-"

"An' yer can save the euphemisms for another time, pal."

"Then no," I said, a touch disappointed, "That's quite a... _long_ train."

"Of course it is," he said, "An' we're at the front. Better get movin'."

We walked quickly down the length of the train, weaving in and out of the various groups of passengers joining us on our trip to Katastari. This train clearly took all sorts; I recognised some people from the tram, interspersed with backpackers, professionals, couples, families, and even extended families. Many were sharing tearful goodbyes, while others were grappling with implausibly large suitcases as they tried to board the train.

As we drew closer to the front, there was a slow but noticeable shift in demographics. There were almost no large families; instead, we were caught up in a sea of men and women wearing smart clothes and suits. Here and there I thought I caught sight of another Sentinel, but they were swept away before I could confirm it, and to be frank I had no idea what I would say to them _anyway_. From some of the looks I was getting, I was beginning to get the feeling that Sentinel or no, I wasn't _entirely_ welcome in this part of the train. As we drew ever closer to the front the looks not only became chillier and more blatant, but I began to hear not-so-subtle whispers as people closed ranks behind us.

"I guess the whole Sentinel approval thing only extends as far as second class, right?" I murmured, and Locke snorted.

"I wouldn't worry about it, pal," he said, loudly enough to be heard by the people around him, "Who cares what a bunch of stuffed shirts and would-be social climbers think, anyway? Waste of sodding time, the lot of 'em."

"I'm guessing you're not looking to make many friends on this trip, then," I remarked, as the atmosphere around us chilled perceptibly.

"Hey, if someone's gonna judge someone based on what they wear or where they've come from, I ain't interested. When yer been around the world like I have, yer learn that people are people, wherever you go."

"How very... _egalitarian_ of you."

"It's true, though."

The very front of the train was almost completely deserted, aside from a few _very_ finely dressed individuals, waiting with clear impatience as a bellboy in a crisply-pressed red and green uniform carefully loaded their expensive luggage into the hold.

"I say, be _careful_ with that!" one barked, as the bellboy fumbled with a heavy-looking suitcase. Their voice was a strange, nasally mix of public school Vectoran mixed with what I could only imagine was upper-class Figaran, "Do you have any idea what it's worth?"

"They're...speaking Vectoran?" I frowned, "Didn't expect that."

"Oh aye," said Locke, "'Used to be that all the best schools were in Vector, so the families who could afford it packed their sons off to learn how to be businessmen or nobles or just, y'know, less inbred. It doesn't happen so much anymore, but speaking Vectoran is still a status symbol amongst the Figaran elite."

"That's handy. For me, I mean."

"Because yer the kind of person who regularly lunches with baronets an' princes, aye? Personally, if someone's gonna sneer at me, I'd rather not know which part of their boot they want to scrape me off-"

"Excuse me, you two!" a sharp, commanding voice came from behind, and we turned to see a man with an impressive handlebar moustache and an even more impressive hat. In one hand he held a cane in a vaguely threatening manner, while the other played idly with a monocle that hung by a filigree gold chain. Behind him stood a similarly well-appointed, woman carrying a delicately embroidered parasol, "Are you _aware_ that this is first class?"

"Oh, aye. We're well aware of it," said Locke, and flashed our tickets in front of the man's eyes, "We wouldn't want to be associatin' with that riff-raff down in second class, yeah?"

The man winced, and then his eyes narrowed as they fell on my uniform, "But Sentinels travel in coach! My taxes don't pay for you to go gallivanting around the country in the lap of luxury!"

"Umm…" I hesitated, and looked over at Locke for support. This man was clearly used to being in command, and the part of me that was used to _being_ commanded was strongly inclined to listen to whatever he had to say, "Well…"

"I shouldn't worry, pal," Locke's expression was friendly enough, but his tone now held an edge of iron, "Yer taxes ain't payin' for squat, an' if anything yer should be grateful that yer got yer own personal medic along for the ride! I've heard nasty things about gout, y'know."

"It's horrible," I agreed, "Really painful, too."

"And personally, I'm jus' glad that we're having the opportunity to associate with our betters!" Locke said, and smiled at the well-to-do couple, "Out of curiosity, how hard do you have to hit the lobster to crack it open again? Only last time I tried it the damn thing basically exploded."

"I-"

"I suppose it was my fault, really. They _did_ say not to use a lump hammer-"

"I've believe I've heard quite enough, thank you. Please do not intrude further on my time," the finely hatted man said, "Come along, darling!"

"Aye. See you at dinner!"

With a superior-sounding sniff he went to brush past Locke, but as he did so he tripped on an innocently-misplaced foot and was sent sprawling across the concrete platform. A few of his upper-class fellows looked briefly at the commotion, but aside from a couple of very ungentlemanly snickers they obviously decided it wasn't worth their time.

"Michalis!" his wife gasped, but Locke was already helping the man to his feet, carefully patting down his clothing in an attempt to get the worst of the concrete dust off.

"Sorry, pal!" Locke said, with a short laugh, "That was clumsy, wasn't it?"

"You _imbecile!_ " Michalis snapped, his face a beet red mixture of pain and humiliation, "Could you not see I was walking there?"

"My mistake. Very sorry," Locke said, and stepped back with one final brush of Michalis' coat, "Won't happen again."

"I should hope not! And _you!_ " his furious gaze passed to me, "Don't think I won't be filing a complaint with your superior!"

"Me?" I blinked, "What did _I-_ "

"Leave it, pal," Locke said, quietly, "Let him go."

Michalis pinned us with a deadly stare for a few moments longer, and then turned away with a flick of his cloak and stalked off, leaving an air of wounded pride in his wake. His wife gave us a scornful look and then quickly scurried after him.

"Was that _really_ necessary?" I said, "I know he was an arse, but-"

"Oh, aye, it were necessary," Locke said, "An' we better be boardin' ourselves. Train'll be leavin' shortly."

"Yeah, you're right. Cabin twenty two, wasn't it?"

"Hold on-" with a flourish, Locke produced our rather gaudy tickets and inspected them carefully, "Nope. We're in cabin eight. See?"

I looked carefully at the tickets. Sure enough, in the row marked 'Cabin' there was a large, stylised number '8', "But I could've sworn that Amara-"

"-was spendin' too much time attemptin' to charm a poor, naive Sentinel into headin' out alone to check the cabin number? Yer right," he said, and added, "Incidentally, yer ever met _anyone_ from Albrook called 'Amara'?"

"Um…" I shrugged helplessly, "No?"

"Me neither," he said darkly, "Now c'mon."

* * *

By now I think we've pretty well established that, as a Trainee Sentinel, my monthly wage was low enough that I was basically paying Callista for the right to train. For that reason, the section of the train marked 'first class' had always been a bit of a mystery to me; a world of tall hats, large monocles, and throaty laughs hidden behind a jealously guarded ornate door. It was therefore a _little_ surprising to discover that the first class section wasn't all that far removed to what I had been used to. I mean, sure, the cabins were a _bit_ nicer, and the carpets were a _bit_ thicker, but my first impression on stepping aboard was that it certainly wasn't worth the additional limbs the train companies were demanding.

"Aye, yer probably right," said Locke, when I complained, "But that ain't why these guys're travelin' first class. They want the privacy, same as us, an' they don't want to have to interact with-"

"People like us?"

"Well, that ain't our problem."

"Still…" I looked around, "Where's the butlers? The masseurs? The performing artists? Don't tell me that she was feeding me a bloody line all this time!"

"Yer know, the more I hear about yer friend, the more I like her," Locke said, with a wry grin, "If yer lucky there might be a string quartet at dinner, but it'd probably be better for us if we jus' stay in our cabin. Speakin' of which-"

Locke came to a halt in front of a door with a large, golden '8' on the front, and waved the ticket towards the lock. There was a 'beep' and the door unlocked with a click, before swinging inwards silently on well-oiled hinges.

"Clever," I remarked, as I followed him into the cabin. Compared to my first-class related fantasies (and Celes' outright lies) I had to say I was definitely disappointed. On one side of the room there was a small wooden table and a pair of chairs, securely firmly to the wall, while on the other was a pair of bunk beds covered in crisp, white linens. Aside from those, the only other feature of interest was a door that, I guessed, probably led to an equally disappointing ensuite.

"No performing artists in here, either," I said, and sat down on a chair with a sigh. In fairness, it was more comfortable than it looked.

"I'm sure they'll be along," the door clicked shut, and then a ticket appeared in my field of view, "Yer may want to hold onto one of these-"

"Ah, no," I quickly sat on my hands, "I can't."

"You... can't?"

"I might end up scrambling it," I said, "A couple of years ago they tried switching to swipe cards at IAF Wareydon, but in the end they had to get me a key. Cid said it was due to my 'electromagnetic personality'.

"Uh-huh."

"Hey, it was a pretty good joke by his standards," I said, "You'll have to keep hold of 'em."

"Sure, fine," Locke said, and sat down across from me with a serious look on his face, "Now, I reckon it's about high time we started answerin' each others questions. Yer wanna go first?"

"Okay," I said, "What was all that in South Figaro? You knew that Nick guy, you knew that the Wraiths put out a bounty on my head, and you knew there was a...meeting? How?"

"That one's easy," he said, "'About noon yesterday I got a message through my...connections-"

"Connections?"

"Aye, connections," he said, in a tone that said he wasn't about to elaborate, "This guy wanted a job doing. Easy target, substantial pay-"

"A million gil, yeah? I'd probably kill _myself_ for that sort of money..."

"You an' me both, pal," Locke grinned, "An' yer see, I had this thought. I'd heard about everythin' that'd happened in IAF Wareydon, and I figured that I'd go along and see what was up. If it were important then maybe I could go an' mess it up good and proper for 'em."

"I'll admit, I'm amazed they let you in. Surely they'd know about your...political leanings, right?"

"I don't generally brag about them, if that's what you're thinking," Locke leaned in, "Truth be told, I've done work for the Empire in the past – nothing big, mind you, an' I certainly never killed for them, but little things, just to earn their trust."

"I...see," I didn't see at _all_ , "Do go on, anyway."

"Well, the man at the meeting were a proper piece of work, if you ask me. Wraith to the core," he shivered, "It weren't a long meeting, neither; he just gave us a description of that blasted yellow cap of yours an' sent us packing."

"No name?" I frowned, "No nothing?"

"'Course not," he said, "Nick might've fancied his chances against a Mage Knight, but not everyone attendin' is that reckless. If yer name came up they would've either run a mile or demanded a load more cash."

"So they just wanted the hat," I said, and pulled out Celes' hat with another small shower of sand, " _This_ hat."

"Aye," Locke nodded, "He was _really_ emphatic about it, too. 'Fact, he told us to bring us the hat as proof we'd killed yer, head attached or otherwise."

"Lovely," I shuddered.

"Oh, aye, he were a gentleman and no mistake," he picked up the dirty, tattered beanie and turned it left and right, "He also said out that there were no point in faking the hat; apparently, there's summat special about this thing that we wouldn't know abo-"

Suddenly the sound of an enormous horn tore through the air with enough force to make the cabin reverberate. There was a moment of silence, and then it sounded again.

"Bloody hell! _Ow!_ " I winced, "Was that-"

"Yeah, we're about to leave," Locke said, and as if on cue there was a jolt and a sudden feeling of forward motion. Idly, I turned to look out of the window as we left the cool interior of the station behind and started out across the Figaran countryside. For a moment, the hat was forgotten as I stared curiously out at the rugged, grassy plains, interspersed with neatly planted olive groves and the occasional tall, white house.

"So what d'ya think it is, then?" he said, "That's special about this hat, I mean?"

"Good question," I frowned. Aside from being extremely yellow and entirely hideous, it seemed entirely unremarkable to me. What would the Wraiths know about this hat that I wouldn't? Or was it something odd that I _did_ know about, but had just dismissed as being 'normal for Celes'?

"I mean, it ain't a designer brand or anything, is it?" Locke said, "I don't see a name-"

"Name! Of course!" for a moment I felt like kicking myself and then turned the hat inside out. Even upside down, I could see a poorly stitched 'Celestine Chere' in the lower brim of the hat, "She puts her name on all her clothes. Always has done."

"That's odd."

"That's Celes," I said, and then added in a defensive tone, "We're all odd in our own ways, aren't we?"

"Some of us more than others," he said, and gave me a long look, "Yer mind taking yer hat off, pal? Ain't nobody else around to see yer."

"...I guess," I said. With some care, I took off my new hat and then ran my fingers through my hair. First chance I got, I was _definitely_ using that shower.

Locke gave my hair a brief look, and then his face split into a wry grin, "I can see why yer wearin' grey, pal. That's gotta be a nightmare to coordinate with."

"Really?" I blinked, "That's it?"

"What else do yer want me to say?" he said, "Yer got green hair. Lots of people have green hair. Granted, most of 'em use hair dye, but so what? Like I said, people are people, wherever you go."

"But...you're not afraid of me?" I said, "I'm a Mage Knight! I could go off at any time!"

"Oh, I've seen the propaganda," he said, "Yer know, the ones where they kinda insinuate that yer a seven foot tall bronzed god of destruction? Compared to that, you ain't so scary."

"I suppose."

" _An'_ let's not forget I found yer havin' a good cry behind a bunch of bins in South Figaro."

"I'd _quite_ like to forget that, actually."

"Well, it's hard to be terrified of a kid bawlin' their eyes out. Tell yer what, though-" he said, "-if yer accidentally turn me into a pair of smokin' boots, I'll let yer say 'I told yer so'. Deal?"

"...deal, I guess."

"Good," he said, "Now...why're you goin' to Narshe? What's going on there?"

"I don't know," I admitted, "Someone wrote me a letter telling me that it was the only way I could help my sister."

"Ah, yeah- Terra, wasn't it?" he said, and I nodded, "She knows yer alive, right?"

"Yeah, but that isn't the problem. Celes said that they'd used this thing on her called a 'Slave Crown'. She's-"

"-completely under their control, right?" Locke gave me a sympathetic look, "Ah, pa- Firmament, I'm really sorry."

"Firma's fine, really," I said, "But I _have_ to get to Narshe. If there's the faintest chance I can save her then I'll walk there if I have to. Barefoot."

"You ain't gonna have to walk there, pal," he assured, "But what's yer plan?"

"Plan? I don't have a plan!" I flared suddenly, "What makes you think I've got _any_ idea what I'm doing? It's like you said; I'm this naive, idiot Sentinel who's been tossed out into the world, and now I'm going up against thugs and being chased by Wraiths and god only knows what else!"

"Then we'll come up with a plan," he said calmly, "'Sides, yer _also_ a Mage Knight, so-"

"People keep saying that! It's not helpful!" I snapped, "Being a Mage Knight doesn't mean I'm smart, or brave, or even _capable_. I mean, you were right about Macaria; I probably _would've_ given her three thousand for that damn hat if she'd asked! How is someone like _me_ meant to go toe-to-toe with Imperial Intelligence?"

"By learnin' quickly," he said, "What's the alternative? Turn yerself in? Give up on yer sister?"

"Of course not!" I said, and put my head in my hands, "It's just...I'm not cut out for this. I don't know what to do."

"Nobody does, pal. Chances are even the Wraiths are kinda wingin' it."

"You think so?"

"I _know_ so. They weren't expectin' both of us to be gettin' on this train. Now they'll be rushing to catch up."

"Is that why you picked that guy's pocket?" I said, and added sourly, "Like you picked mine?"

"If yer suddenly turned up with a load of cash in yer wallet, don't yer think that the Wraiths would've work out who was helpin' yer really quickly?" he said, "Yer need to remember to protect yer friends, pal. That's all."

"And the tickets?"

"A precaution," he said, "If there's any Wraiths on this train, they'll be thinkin' we're in cabin twenty two. The instant they kick in that door we'll know about it, an' we can pull the emergency brake cord an' be off the train before they know what's happenin'."

"Clever. Except for the bit where you involved innocent people."

"If he didn't want to be our patsy, he shouldn't have been such an arse," Locke shrugged, "Ain't nothin' innocent about him. Anyway, I reckon we could both do with a shower an' then yer should get some sleep while yer can. Once we're off this train, we'll likely be runnin' non-stop until we get to Narshe."

"Sure. You go first, mate," I said, "I just...I need to think."

Locke nodded, just the once, and then got up and headed towards the ensuite. Before long, I could hear the sounds of running water and a strange, off-key hum of a song I didn't recognise. With a weary grin and a shake of my head, I dug out Celes' wallet once again and stared long and hard at the photo. Had this _really_ been taken back in March? It seemed so long ago, though; then again, after everything that had happened these past two days, _everything_ seemed long ago. What had I been doing last week? What had Terra been doing…? My mind span uselessly, throwing up snippets of happier times, and I felt a deep sense of melancholia begin to settle over me.

When Locke re-emerged from the shower, still rubbing at his hair with a towel, he found me hunched over on the table staring silently at the small, black and white picture. I had one hand buried in my hair, working uselessly at the matted knots, while the other played idly with the photograph.

"D'ya want to talk about it, pal?"

"What do you want me to say?" I said hoarsely, "'Turns out Cid was right."

"...and what did Cid say?"

"That we'd miss each other when they were gone," I said, "When we were growing up we used to fight _all_ the time. She was just so _picky_ , so damn _controlling_! For some reason, she needed to mess with every little last bit of my life, and she had this irritating little smirk when she was right that just...ah, Goddess, I just wanted to kick her teeth in! I mean, it's not like I was any better, I'm sure, but at the time…"

"I know what yer mean, pal. Believe me."

"One day it got bad enough that Cid sat us down and basically gave us this huge lecture about how we needed to grow up, apologise, and start treating each other properly. Of course, we were young, and proud, and _obviously_ immortal, so...we laughed it off. Even when we were at our worst, I just couldn't imagine her not being there, but now-" I waved the photograph in the air, "-this may be all I have left of her, and when I look at it all I think about is how much time we wasted in pointless fights instead of actually looking out for each other. How bloody _stupid!_ "

"Siblings're complicated, Firma," Locke said, "An' I'm sure yer loved each other, just the same."

"Of course I love her! I love her to bits!" my voice cracked suddenly, "Hell, I loved her even when we were throttling the living daylights out of each other! I probably should have told her that more often, though. Maybe we'd have gotten along better, but...y'know. Stupid pride."

"Did she ever tell you?"

"No. Not once. Honestly, I think the concept kind of confuses her… but on the other hand, she's gone and totally one-upped me by sacrificing _everything_ to stop Kefka from killing me...and that's so _bloody_ like her! So competitive! Always has to come in first!"

"That's love, though, ain't it?" said Locke, "Different people express it in different ways, an' they hear it in different ways, too. Look, I had a brother back in Kohlingen. We were like what it sounds like you an' Terra are; he were always the one with his head in the game, an' I always liked to go out wandering, y'know, finding stones with snails in them and such. We used to fight like blazes over how he were always doing the lion's share of the work while I was off dreamin', but when he took over the family business he always made sure that there were a room for me if I needed it, an' that one time when it were about to go under I helped him out until better times came along. We looked out for each other in our own ways, see?"

"You said 'had'," I said, knowing the answer, but dreading it all the same, "What... happened to him?"

"He died when the Empire attacked Kohlingen," Locke said roughly, "Bomb landed right on our house; killed everyone."

"Oh...I'm so sorry, Locke. Really, I am."

"Ah, weren't yer fault," Locke replied with a shrug, "The point is, yer ain't allowed to pick yer family, an' even magically empowered twins don't have to get along. That doesn't mean yer didn't love each other; she gave up everythin' for yer without so much as a second thought, an' here you are doin' exactly the same. What's that if it ain't love?"

"Yeah, I know," I said, "Sorry. I'm being morose."

"It's okay, lad; get it out of yer system. An' once yer done that, go an' have a shower and a kip. I'll wake yer for dinner."

"You're not going to sleep yourself?"

"Don't be silly, pal," he said, quite firmly, "This train ain't safe."


End file.
